A Fable of the Past
by PerfectlyWeird333
Summary: The discovery of an old object leads Reaver to recall things he thought he'd long forgotten. A detailed story of Reaver's past in Oakvale and what led him to become the man he is.
1. Something Unexpected

**A Fable of the Past**

**Summary:** Some wounds never heal with time. A story about Reaver's love, and life before immortality.

**Pairing:** Reaver/"her"

**Genre: **Drama/Romance

**Rating:** T (might change to M for later chapters)

Reaver belongs to Lionhead studios, all other characters belong to me.

**A/N: Let's just say, when I first heard Reaver's diary, the plot bunnies beat me into submission. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter One: Something Unexpected_

Moving day once again. Reaver would admit he would miss Millfields, he had thoroughly enjoyed his time spent living there around such aristocracy. But alas, recent events had suggested he move elsewhere, what with the crashing of his latest (and most entertaining) party so far in his manor. That and Logan's overthrow. Yes, a more discreet living arrangement would be wise, in case the new Queen and that revolutionary got any other funny ideas.

His servants had already started moving his portraits, but despite having such a large living space, there were relatively few things he intended to take with him to his new home. He could easily afford new furniture and the like, so it would be silly to make the effort to move such things, although it might be funny to watch his servants try. Besides his clothing, there was one other thing Reaver always moved with him. He'd kept it locked away behind another one of his secret bookshelves, a chest which held his most valuable treasures. Not gold, or jewels, or any other sort of currency. Certainly Reaver did not have a chest big enough to fit all the gold he possessed, nor would he be foolish enough to keep it in his home. No, these sort of treasures were personal, collected over many lifetimes worth of adventures and conquests. Once again, it was time to move the chest, a task he dreaded, as it was rather heavy. Despite this, Reaver would trust no one but himself with such a task, as it contained the only things he owned that were truly irreplaceable.

"Alright, let's get this over with." Reaver cracked his knuckles and bent down to lift the chest. Yes, it certainly hadn't lost any weight from the last time he carried it. His arms strained as he carried it across the room. _Just two flights of stairs_, he thought. He was almost to the door now. All of a sudden he heard a loud creaking noise. "What the devil was-" *SNAP* Reaver toppled off balance and howled as the bottom half of the chest broke off and landed on his foot. Before he knew it he was on the floor, still holding onto the handles. Reaver cursed and tried to collect himself. His chest lay in practically two pieces now; the upper half and lower half. He examined the chest, from the looks of it one of the rusted hinges had snapped off and consequently took out the other hinge with it. The bottom of the chest was splintered, but somehow it held together enough to keep its contents inside.

_Honestly, what sort of dim-wit would attach the handles to the upper half of a trunk?_ It had always bothered him. No matter, despite the ill-placed handles, the chest proved to be very well-constructed. He was surprised that the trunk had lasted this long, it was nearly as old as he was. That considering, it was about time he'd gotten a new one. Reaver sighed and scanned the room, looking for something that would temporarily transport and fit his most precious belongings.

After a moment, he found that the only reasonable container was the trunk at the foot of his bed used for clothing (mostly). Though the trunk was much larger than he would need it to be, this would be his best bet. He approached the trunk and hoisted it open. It was only half full. The clothing would help cushion his more valuable things anyway. _Although I may need help carrying it down_, he pondered as he considered the size. He waved the idea off. The chest screeched painfully against the hardwood floor as he dragged its shambles over to the trunk at the foot of his bed. Fortunately, he was moving out of the manor. As far as he was concerned the next owner could deal with scrapes on the floor. Now to transport all of its contents. As he peered inside, he realized it had been a while since he'd gone through his trunk. In fact, he couldn't really remember the last time he went through it for memory's sake. Out of all the times he'd opened this obscenely old piece of luggage, most of them were to put things in, not take things out.

_Well, this should be interesting_, he mused. Perhaps there was an upside to this, as monotonous a task it seemed. He started in on the contents. Nearly 300 years worth of treasures, most of which were technically useless. Old treasure maps, odd souvenirs he'd taken off of captains he'd killed, trinkets from various travels. Reaver did enjoy reminiscing about past adventures. As he continued to unload the chest, he stumbled upon a lacy garter belt. "Oh, Penelope." He gave a devious smile as he remembered that night. _I wonder..._ With childish curiosity, he brought it closer to his face and smelled it. He must have looked like a fool as he pressed it into his nose to try and catch the faintest whiff of her. No avail. It smelled as though it had been sitting in an old trunk for nearly 60 years, quite appropriately. With disappointment he flung it into the new container.

It was a while before Reaver felt the bottom. The further he dug, the older things got. Of course, some items required a moments recollection as to where he'd acquired them. Oh yes, things were _very_ old down there. Reaver rummaged about the chest, until at last something caught his eye that made his heart skip a beat.

_No, it couldn't be_. He sat back, breathing heavily, as if afraid of what was inside. After a moment, he peered into the chest and pulled the old thing out for proper examination. Yes, it had been precisely what he thought it was.

He cursed himself for having not destroyed it. How could this have possibly survived after so many years, after he thought he had gotten rid of everything. His head pounded as feelings and memories bled through the cracks in the armor he'd built over so many years. He looked desperately toward the fireplace, as if in reflex to abolish the pain by destroying it once and for all. As if it would help.

Much to his dismay, the fire was not lit. He turned the book over in his hands. The pages were fragile and warped with age. He sat frozen, unable to make it stop as the memories hit him like a tidal wave. There was a story that went with this.

But that story belonged to another time, to another man.

* * *

Ever since news broke out that old Mrs. Greybo's house had sold, there had been a variety of speculations as to who might have purchased it. In the small village of Oakvale, new residents were always a big deal. The day the Brightons moved to town had been no exception.

That afternoon, when Harriet Ashfield looked out her window and saw two large carriages outside that very house, she knew it could be none other than their highly anticipated neighbors. _Dorian will want to know about this_, she thought. _I'll stop at his place first, we can go meet them together. _And with that she left the house and made her way up the hill towards his.

Dorian Maslow was the youngest person in Oakvale to own a house and live alone in it. Most other young adults lived with their parents until they married or moved to another town. Dorian's home had been his inheritance. He was twenty-five.

In a matter of minutes, Harriet arrived at the cottage and knocked on the door. She stared at it a moment while she waited. Some of the paint was chipping off. Silence. She gave another knock, harder this time. "Dorian, open up! Our new neighbors are here." Still nothing. "Oh, honestly," she rolled her eyes and kicked over the empty flower pot. He always hid a spare key under there. Once inside, she tossed the key on the table and made her way up the stairs only to find him sprawled across the bed, asleep. She should have suspected this much.

Harriet walked over to his bed and gave an irritated sigh. What could he have possibly been doing up so late? She wondered. Never mind, she didn't want to know. "Dorian, wake up!"

He stirred slightly and grumbled something incoherent.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to meet our new neighbors but apparently it's still too early for you."

He opened his eyes and squinted from the mid-day sun, "What time is it?"

"Noon."

Harriet eyed him as he rolled over and stretched. He wasn't wearing a shirt. She figured she should have been used to it by now, as they had known each other since they were children. She still wasn't. His lightly tanned skin seemed to glow in the sunlight. He looked so warm, she wanted to slip under the covers with him and feel his heated skin against her cheek. Then she remembered why she was here. "Dorian, come on, I don't have all day."

He rubbed his eyes groggily, "Alright, Harriet, just give me a second." He sat up and stretched again, trying to adjust to the light. His tousled brown hair glistened in the sun. Harriet folded her arms and sat down as she waited. He had always been very attractive, and he knew it. Dorian swung his legs over the bed and sat there a moment. He was wearing nothing but his underwear. Finally he stood up, "I suppose I should put some clothes on," he said and pulled open the middle drawer of his worn dresser. He took out a lose-fitting white shirt and brown trousers; pauper's clothes.

There was a time when Reaver was content with what he had. A time when as long as he had something to eat, something to wear, and a comfortable place to live, he would do just fine. Most people in Oakvale lived the same way. Dorian buttoned his trousers, rolled up his sleeves, and combed his hair into its usual tousled style. Effortless. All in all, Dorian Maslow had been dealt a pretty good hand. He walked over to his nightstand to pick up the house key and put on his shoes. "Ready when you are."

"Alright, let's go. Abigail will probably want to come too." Harriet stood up and followed him down the stairs. He really could have worn something nicer, she thought. After all, these would be their first impressions on their new neighbors and she knew he did in fact own nicer clothes than he had on. (Although they weren't all _that_ much nicer.) She thought of commenting on it but he would probably reply saying something about how he didn't need to wear nice clothing to impress people because he was just naturally charming. Yes, that sounded exactly like something he's say, and then he'd flash her one of those heart-melting smiles. Saying anything about it at this point would be a lost cause. And besides, she'd actually gotten him up, dressed, and out the door with her. She'd settle for that.

* * *

Amelia Brighton sat down with a sigh on her new front doorstep and looked out onto Oakvale's lush, sunny fields. Quite a change from Bowerstone, so much _space_. The warms summer breeze felt good on her face as she rested a moment, giving her arms a break from unloading the carriage. Suddenly she felt a soft nudge from behind her and reached back to pet the grey striped cat. "Hello Ripley," she smiled widely at him and gave him a scratch under the chin. She had to admit, she was a bit apprehensive about letting him roam around outside. There fields where quite vast, she was worried he might get lost.

Amelia saw something out of the corner of her eye that caught her attention. Three figures coming down the road, a young man in the middle with a woman on either side, one blonde, and one with a neutral brown color hair. All looked as though they were close to her age. More visitors no doubt. She called to her father to come and greet them.

Mr. Brighton was a slender man in his mid 50s. His straight, grey hair was cut off at about his mid-neck, and was typically pulled out of his face by a pair of goggles atop his head, but not today. Today he and his daughter were moving into their new home in Oakvale, and there would be time for experimenting later.

"Ah, hello there!" he shouted cheerfully at the three visitors. They all chimed greetings in response. Amelia stood up and came down the walkway to greet them.

"Hi, I'm Harriet Ashfield," said the blonde, extending her hand to Amelia, "It's so nice to meet you, we've been anticipating your arrival for a while now."

Amelia smiled and returned the handshake, "Hi, I'm Amelia Brighton, this is my father," she motioned to him.

"Arthur Brighton," he shook her hand warmly, "Thank you for stopping by, everyone here is so welcoming!"

The brown haired girl, Abigail Green, introduced herself next. She was noticeably more soft-spoken than the blonde, Amelia picked up. Both girls seemed to share a fondness for the middle member of the trio, who flashed her one of his signature smiles.

Dorian extended his hand to her, gazing heavily into her crystal blue eyes. This Amelia Brighton was all sorts of loveliness. How fortunate he was that he now had a new young woman to become acquainted with. Such a beauty! Oh yes, Dorian had not been expecting to find a new neighbor quite like this one, but he was most thankful for it. "Dorian Maslow, such a pleasure to meet you."

"Yes, and a pleasure meeting you," Amelia responded. His gaze had a soft intensity. Now that he was closer, she noticed Dorian had a distinct beauty mark under his left eye.

Yes, _this_ is why Dorian loved newcomers. Well, young, attractive newcomers. Fondly, he remembered Marietta, the Westons' cousin from Oakfield. Had it really been almost a year since that summer? Disappointing she could only stay for a few weeks, and it all could have ended so much better. Bobby Weston was still a bit bitter about him having slept with his cousin to this day.

"So, where are you two from, exactly?" Dorian inquired.

"Bowerstone," she answered, "We owned an apothecary up there, but another one opened on the other side of town about six months ago, we lost a lot of business," she explained.

"Yes, Amelia and I thought we had been down on our luck until we heard about a place for sale down here," Mr. Brighton chimed in, "And with Oakvale without an apothecary we figured it was a perfect fit. Quite the blessing in disguise."

"You know, we could really use an apothecary around here too," Harriet added, "My father is the town physician, now he'll no longer have to order in herbs and medicines, it's really quite nice." Harriet couldn't help but notice Dorian had become rather transfixed since they met their new neighbors. Abigail gave her a knowing glance. _Here we go again_.

"Oh, really? Well, he and I will be doing business with each other often then," he smiled at her.

Amelia could tell from the looks of the two girls on either side of him that this Dorian Maslow was quite the town catch. She had to admit, he was incredibly handsome. He knew it too, she could tell. The girls' looks changed to jealousy as he flashed her another one of those heart-melting smiles, and she felt herself smile in return, as if she had no control. She saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as she returned the smile, as though he had predicted his effect on her. It was evident he was experienced at this, but experience of her own told her there were few things charming men like him were after. No matter, it was their first encounter, so she would be polite.

"You know, if you'd like some help moving these boxes I'd be more than happy to help," he offered. Harriet and Abigail shot each other looks.

"Why of course!" Mr. Brighton chimed in before she had time to respond, "We could certainly use the help, how very kind of you."

Amelia watched as the smug smile crept onto Dorian's face. "Excellent, just tell me where you want things."

"Alright," he said, "For now we're just setting everything in the living room, er, soon to be apothecary portion of our home," he added with a chuckle.

"Certainly," said Dorian, stealing another glance at Amelia before walking around to the back of the carriage.

Harriet rolled her eyes. "Well, we're going to take off now, it was nice meeting the two of you."

"Yes, it was nice meeting you both!" Abigail added before Harriet took her by the arm, exiting the scene.

Amelia watched as Dorian grabbed a hold of the nearest crate and lifted it. That is, he attempted to. It was incredibly heavy. He struggled with it a moment more before he heard her voice behind him. "Need some help?" her tone sounded almost as smug as his smile had been moments before.

"Hm? No, I've got it. Just need to get the placement right," he tried again, this time lifting it more successfully, although with great effort. He staggered back under the weight, it felt as though his arms were about to break. Amelia folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, I could use some help with this one," he admitted, flashing her another smile to cover the embarrassment.

She came to his aid, taking hold of the other side of the box from underneath. "What's in this thing? Bricks?"

"Books." It was her turn to flash him a smile.

"Yours?"

"Most of them, yes."

"Impressive."

"Thank you." They waddled into the living room and lowered the crate onto the floor. "There's more where that came from."

He raised his eyebrows, "Oh, well then I'll be needing your assistance no doubt."

"That you will," she said, and headed out toward the carriage again. Dorian looked her over as he followed, she had a great body, he noted, very lithe and slender. The shape of her dress accentuated her lower half very nicely, a fine fit for her figure. It complimented her red hair too, a pretty light blue. He raised his eyes in time as she turned around, though by the looks of her she had suspected he'd been staring.

"Alright, this one has books in it as well," she said, right down to business. She didn't seem to be one for making conversation.

Dorian gave the crate the initial lift and Amelia took hold from there. Very well, he would ask the questions then. "So, did you live in Bowerstone your whole life?" The crate was fairly wide, but short enough so that they could still see each others' faces, much to Dorian's advantage and Amelia's discomfort.

"Yes, I take it you've lived here for a while?" As she was the one walking backwards she took frequent opportunities to look behind her to watch her step, but also to break her awkward line of sight. Dorian on the other hand wasn't nearly as subtle. She doubted he'd looked away from her since she'd grabbed on.

"Yes, my whole life. What made you guess that?" he inquired.

"Well," she turned to watch her step again, "those two girls seemed to know you pretty well." She was referring to their possessive glances, but she wasn't sure that he caught on.

"Hm," he pondered her comment, "How observant of you." Finally they set the crate down.

"Oh, good! I see you've brought the books in," Mr. Brighton commented, coming down the stairs, "Heavy, aren't they? You know, Amelia, thinking back it was rather foolish of us to put them all together like that."

Amelia gave a soft smile and shook her head. "The rest shouldn't need more than one person now," she noted. Amelia and her father had unloaded the majority of the crates before Dorian and his friends had arrived. It was about half an hour before they finished with his help.

Mr. Brighton smiled and shook Dorian's hand as he stood in the doorway. "Yes, it was so nice meeting you. And thank you again, Dorian. I take it we will be seeing more of you," he added. They were officially neighbors after all.

Dorian smiled at the older man, but turned his head to look at his daughter before he spoke. "Yes, you will certainly be seeing more of me."

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so quite a lot of introductions in this chapter. (More still to come!) You'll find out more about Amelia and other characters in the next chapter as well. It's a bit of a slow start, but it will pick up soon. While this was a lot of fun to write, it was also a bit challenging as I had so little to go on from Reaver's diary. I hope you enjoy it so far, please leave a review on your way out!**


	2. Monday as Usual

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the views, reviews, and watches so far. I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story. Enjoy!**

_Disclaimer:_ Reaver belongs to Lionhead studios, all other characters belong to me.

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_Chapter Two: Monday as Usual_

"So you fancy her?" it was more of a prompt than a question.

Dorian leaned against the side of the boat in a confidant, leisurely way, and gave Harriet a smirk.

"Does she fancy you?"

He gave a deep chuckle and tossed his head back, "Are you serious with these questions?"

Harriet folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow, "So you think no woman is capable of resisting your charms?"

"I've yet to come across one."

Harriet snorted, "Old Mrs. Greybo didn't seem interested last time I saw her."

"You clearly didn't know her well enough then, my dear," he spotted her a devious grin.

Harriet made a noise somewhere between a gag and a laugh, "Dorian, that's disgusting!" she whacked him with her shoe. He flinched and grabbed her wrist before she could pull back.

"You think my reflexes are that slow?"

She laughed and tried to pull away, "Dorian, let go!"

He tisked playfully, "Come now, my dear, you should know better by now." He grabbed her shoe with his other hand and tossed it to the opposite side of the boat.

Harriet scoffed, Dorian returned it with a smirk and finally let go of her wrist. She frowned slightly as she rubbed the area. His hands, though thin and graceful, were actually rather strong. In fact, a similar concept could be applied to the rest of him too. He was a lean man, not especially muscular, with a wiry strength that went undetected until you tested it, as Harriet had done many times throughout her life. Anyone who knew Dorian knew that psysical stregth was not the area he was most proud of, however.

One wouldn't need to live in Oakvale long to know that Dorian Maslow had unique talent when it came to marksmanship. To this day, no one had ever come close to beating his score in the shooting contest held every Spring. His speed and accuracy with a pistol were almost uncanny. On a whim, he could shoot a coin right through the center when tossed in the air at a considerable distance. No one knew where he had acquired such skill, as it had come so naturally to him, but people had enough sense to know it would be foolish to try to beat him at it. Every Spring, it was considered quite an accomplishment if one did well enough to take second place.

Dorian had adjusted himself back into a reclining position, tucking his hands behind his head. He could smell the salt from the ocean as he took a deep breath, enjoying the weather and warm summer breeze. He wore a thin, white shirt which fluttered in the wind, exposing most of his chest. Dorian never passed up an opportunity to show off. He closed his eyes, the mid-day sun was rather bright.

Harriet rested her head on her arm and gazed leisurely over the side of the boat. Shadows swooshed in languid figure eights below the surface. "We've got company," she said, pointing to the net.

Catching fish had was not something Dorian particularly enjoyed to spend his time doing, nor something he particularly disliked. It was a relatively easy job, as the fish were not hard to come by in these parts of the water, and one that required little time actually doing work. Dorian of course, like any other villager in Oakvale, needed money. Not a lot of money, but enough to put food on the table and wine in his goblet whenever he so pleased. It just so happened that Old Lazarus, the town fisherman, was in need of assistance catching the fish he would sell in his shop, as he was getting old and did not have the strength he once had in his youth. So Dorian, being the opportunist that he was, took him up on the offer to catch his fish every other day. It had been this way for years.

Dorian sat up slowly with a huff and turned his gaze over the side of the boat. Sure enough, Harriet was right. "Alright, let's pull it up. On the count of three." Surely this was something Dorian was capable of on his own, as he had done it many times alone, but why not take advantage of assistance when assistance was so readily available? He was an opportunist after all. On the third count they pulled together, hoisting the fish out of the water and into the boat.

The loaded net landed with a thud and Harriet quickly shrunk away from it, a rather disgusted look upon her face. Dorian's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as he watched. It always made him uncomfortable for a moment when the fish died. The way they flopped about, sucking frantically, their bulging eyes in desperate search of water. He averted his eyes, looking apathetically toward shore. Killing animals was different, one shot to the head and it was over. Fish suffered when they died, that's what bothered him. Sometimes, when he watched their agonizing end, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd suffer when he died. Would he drown? Suffocate? Contract a terminal disease? The thought made his shiver, and he quickly shook the idea away. It was rather silly of him to think so morosely, he was only twenty-five after all. Then again, he had known people who died much younger.

"Alright, let's get this smelly lot back to Lazarus before I lose my breakfast," and with that they made their way to the dock.

Harriet bunched up her skirt as she waded ashore, shoes in hand. Her feet sank into the warm, soft sand as she watched Dorian tie up the boat. From a distance she could see Old Lazarus exit his shack, whiskey in hand, as usual. The old man was hammered half the time, but nobody in Oakvale really seemed to mind. His fish shack was rather popular among the locals, always fresh and always delicious, and had been there ever since Harriet could remember. She gave him a little wave as he drew nearer to the two of them.

"Got yerself a nice lot there, Dorian!"

Dorian sported a rather satisfied look and said nothing as he hoisted the net up and out of the boat.

"Yes, probably due to the nice weather we're having," Harriet answered politely.

"Right ya are there, Harriet! This be great fishin' weather indeed." Old Lazarus took a swig from his bottle. His skin was a crispy brown from so much time in the sun and stood out against his stark white beard. "Jus' bring 'em back to the shack and yer free ta go."

Harriet followed alongside Dorian as he dragged the loaded net up the beach. His pants were rolled up to keep them dry, and his shoes were now taking a ride on the net. Old Lazarus flashed them a half toothless grin and thanked them when they reached his shack.

"So, what do you plan to do with the rest of your day?" Harriet asked, she sensed she already knew the answer.

"How about we give our charming new neighbor an offical tour?"

Harriet sighed, "You think I want to spend my afternoon watching you hit on some innocent girl?"

Dorian chuckled at her honesty, he'd always liked that about her, "Of course! It's precisely the sort of thing I know you will enjoy."

She rolled her eyes, "No thanks," she said, "I'll follow you back into town but that's as far as I'm coming."

"Fair enough," and with that they set off on the road.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so a short chapter, I know. I knew I would need two sort of opening scenes for this chapter, one for Dorian and one for Amelia, so I just decided to make this one its own chapter for the sake of the story flow. It was difficult coming up with a job for him, but I think this one fits rather nicely. (Honestly, could you see him as a farmer or a blacksmith? Me neither. XD) Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are much appreciated! :)**


	3. Guided Discoveries

_**Disclaimer: As usual, Reaver belongs to Lionhead Studios, all other characters belong to me. **_

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* * *

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_Chapter Three:__ Guided Discoveries_

Amelia lay peacefully asleep atop the mattress on the floor. Warm sunlight refracted in through the window, the room was quiet. Yesterday's move had been rather exhausting, Mr. Brighton only thought it fair to let the girl sleep in. Amelia stirred from her sleep as she felt a gentle nudge to her cheek. Her cat, on the other hand, had other ideas. She cracked her eyes and was greeted by a pair of large blue ones. Sighing, she removed her hand from the warmth of her blanket to pet him, "You have no sense of manners, do you?" He proceeded to kneed his paws on the bunched up covers around her sides, his eyes squinting with content. She couldn't help but smile, he was such a spoiled cat. So used to winning people over with his adorable nature, always getting what he wanted. Anyway, she would have been more upset with him if it had been an unreasonable hour, and by the looks of the sun, it was early afternoon.

Amelia sat up and stretched; she might as well get out of bed, there was still loads to unpack. Ripley watched her curiously as she left him in her warm bed. Silly girl. She padded over to the box of clothing on her floor and searched through it. Finally she pulled out a short sleeved dress and a corset-vest. She took a cautious glance out the window before undressing, out of habit of course. In Bowertone the houses had been much closer together. They had not gotten the curtains up, but even without them she figured it would be unlikely anyone could see her through the window here.

She dressed fairly slow, as she had no place to be today. Ripley weaved around her legs as she reminisced about the day before. The people here were incredibly welcoming and friendly. She figured it must have been exciting for them to see some new faces. Of course, none were quite as excited as that Dorian fellow had been. He was hardly a subtle man, but a charming one, she would give him that much. Finally she tied the strings of her corset-vest. Ripley looked up at her with wide eyes and meowed. She sighed and gave him a look before picking him up to go downstairs.

"Ah, good morning, Amelia! Or, should I say, good afternoon," her father chuckled.

She returned the greeting and sat down beside him to help unpack the various flasks and glass apothecary instruments he was working on unboxing. It had been just the two of them ever since she could remember. He was a great father, a very kind and understanding man. Amelia wondered to this day what sort of woman it would take to just leave a man like him and her two year old daughter. There was so little she could remember of her mother. When she was old enough to wonder, she had asked her father why her mother had left, and he, very kindly explained, for he did not want to lie to her, that her mother was very young, and believed she was not ready to be one.

_"So she left because of me?"_

_Mr. Brighton looked upon his daughter, his eyes brimming with compassion. "Amelia, she left because she did not thing she was cut out to be a mother, not because she didn't think you were a good enough daughter."_

_She began to cry. He picked her up and held her on his lap, "My dear, you cannot possibly blame yourself," his words did nothing to stop her tears, "you know, I couldn't ask for a better daughter. Such a smart, beautiful girl I've been blessed with."_

_"That didn't seem to stop her."_

_Mr. Brighton frowned, "Amelia, you mustn't think like that. A two year old can hardly be blamed for anything."_

Amelia would always remember his words, though as true as she knew they were, there was always a small part of herself that doubted them throughout her childhood. If she was as sweet of a girl as her father said she was, why did her mother not love her enough to stay? Even in her adulthood this question sometimes crept its way into her thoughts.

After an hour of unpacking, Amelia and her father decided to take a break. "You know, if its alright with you I think I might explore the town a bit today," she suggested.

Mr. Brighton smiled, "Of course that would be alright. As for myself I think I might take a little nap."

"Alright, I'll let you know what I find," she smiled and headed for the door. They waved each other goodbye and off she went.

* * *

The afternoon sun was high in the sky. Harriet used her hand like a visor as she walked alongside her childhood friend up the steep hill leading into town. The sand from the beach that had gotten in her shoes was rather irritating.

Dorian watched her amusedly as she hopped along beside him, shaking out the sand in one of her flats. She struggled to keep her balance. "You know, I'd offer you assistance if you weren't so funny to watch."

Harriet gave him a look, putting her shoe back on. "Sometimes I wonder why I haven't sewn your mouth shut."

"Because I'm so funny to listen to," he teased. In the distance he discerned a figure coming toward them. A woman who, as she drew closer, could easily be recognized by her auburn hair, like a beacon glistening in the sun.

Harriet's irritated expression told him they were seeing the same thing.

"Well, it looks as though my destination came right to me!" Dorian exclaimed.

"It looks as though I'll be leaving you sooner than I intended," she said dryly.

"Now, now, Harriet, must you always be so pessimistic? This could be quite a bit of fun!"

She scoffed, "Fun for you, that is."

Dorian waved at Amelia and quickened his pace in her direction. Harriet was noticeably in less of a hurry. "Why hello, Amelia, fancy seeing you here!"

Amelia returned his wave, not walking any faster than she had been. Within moments he was within speaking distance.

"So, what brings you here on this fine afternoon?"

"I thought I would explore the town, see what's around, that sort of thing."

"Well, you're in luck! Harriet and I happened to know Oakvale very well, isn't that right, Harriet?" he shouted the last part behind him, not taking his eyes off Amelia. Harriet, taking her good old time, gave a look of mock agreement. "Please, allow me to give you a tour of the place," he flashed her a signature smile and extended his arm to her.

Amelia gave a cautious look. He was charming, she'd give him that, but it was obvious what his intentions were. Still, she did not see any harm it would do her to accept his proposal. After all, she imagined he was not lying when he said he knew Oakvale well. "Alright, if you insist, I'd be happy to take a tour," she took notice of his extended arm, "though I believe I can walk just fine on my own," she said, cracking a grin at him, her eyes teasing.

Harriet raised her eyebrows at her rejection and noted the momentary astonishment that flickered in Dorian's eyes. On second thought, this could be rather entertaining.

Dorian chuckled, amused by her forwardness. "Very well, any place you'd like to start with in particular?"

"Anywhere is fine."

"Alright then, Harriet, why don't we start with your house?"

She shrugged, "If you insist."

The three of them walked together down the road, it was not long before they reached a house slightly larger than the rest of them. "This, my dear, is the Ashfield house, one of the oldest buildings in Oakvale."

"My family's lived in Oakvale for roughly three hundred years, although most of our relatives moved elsewhere over time. We are indeed the oldest family from around these parts."

"Wow, that is quite old."

As they continued on, Dorian rattled off names of other homeowners, as they passed their respected houses. The homes in Oakvale had an endearing cottage feel to them. Flower boxes in the windows, worn, wooden doors, and the like. It was as though as poor the residents may have been, the homes still appeared warm and desirable to live in.

Soon they reached what could almost be called a town square. "You'll find most shops around this section of town. As you can see, we have a baker, and a butcher-"

"And a bookshop!" Amelia exclaimed.

Dorian chuckled, amused with her. "Yes, I figured you'd like that."

She gave a sheepish smile, feeling a bit silly for being unable to contain her childish excitement.

"Now, right up this hill you'll find my home, and nearby, the school that Harriet and I attended."

They made their way up the hill and Amelia saw for herself what he had described. His home was a small, cozy little cottage with two stories. She noted the empty flower boxes and unkempt yard. Apparently he wasn't too concerned with housekeeping. By the worn, lavender shutters, she got a feeling it had been owned by a woman at one point.

The school was rather small as well, but a quaint little thing. It made sense, Oakvale was small enough that it wouldn't need a school any bigger.

"My mother taught there when she was alive," said Dorian.

"And how was that? Having your mother as a school teacher,"

Dorian chuckled, "Well, I knew that whatever I managed to get away with in school, I would be punished for at home. As you can imagine, it was hard to keep secrets when your teacher and mother were one in the same."

Harriet snorted, "He should have been punished a lot more than he was," and she was right. Even as a child, Dorian had quite a talent for charming people. He soon discovered that a well-placed pout, an innocent look, or a sweet smile could get him very far indeed. His attractiveness had been lifelong, and he, being the opportunist that he was, had often used it to his advantage.

They soon passed over a bridge to another area with more houses. "That house over there belongs to the Masons, who in my opinion, have far too many children for their own good. Surprising not to see any of them running about outside. I'm fairly sure they have seven."

"They do."

"Harriet would know, they are her cousins after all. I can never seem to keep any of their names straight." He stopped toward the center of the houses, which faced inward, toward the well. "So, how do you like it, Amelia?"

She could feel his eyes probing her, searching her over. They were a warm hazel color, with flecks of green and brown. "I like it very much."

"Excellent," he said, "It is certainly refreshing to see a new face around these parts," he leaded against the fence in a cool, casual manner, probing her once again with his eyes. "Say, if you're not busy later this afternoon I could show you the beach as well, perhaps get the two of us a boat?"

Amelia flushed a little at his proposal. It sounded more like a romantic date than a tour, which she guessed was his intention. Before she could respond, however, a new face appeared beside the well, looking none too pleased.

"Found a new woman to mack on, Dorian?"

The three of them turned their heads toward the voice. Dorian was rather unmoved by his comment. "Oh look, if it isn't Bobby Weston. Lovely weather we're having, wouldn't you agree?"

"Don't play stupid, you heard me."

"This is Amelia by the way, our charming new neighbor from Bowerstone."

Bobby glanced in her direction. "She'd be better off without your help."

Amelia cocked an eyebrow and gave Dorian a suspicious look.

"Don't be so brutish, silly boy, introduce yourself like a gentleman!"

Bobby laughed, "Like you'd know anything at all about being a gentleman!"

"Oh my, quite the angry fellow today, are we? I sense a bit of jealousy in your voice, is that right?"

He scowled, "Knock it off, Dorian, I see what you're trying to do."

Dorian gave a small, mocking laugh. "Do you really? I don't see how it's any of your business, anyway."

"Funny, you said the same thing to me last summer when you suckered my innocent cousin into sleeping with you."

Amelia shot Dorian a glance. She was more disappointed than anything. Of course, it had been her first assumption that he was more or less the town flirt. She would admit, she was actually starting to enjoy his company, as forward a man as he was. Part of her didn't want to believe what she was hearing.

"Your cousin was old enough to make her own decisions. Though if it's any consolation, she did rather enjoy herself," he gave a devious smile.

Bobby looked as though he was about to punch him, "You slimy bastard, you think you can get away with anything."

Dorian gave a curt laugh, "Really, Bobby, I don't see why you're so upset. She came willingly after all," he gave a deep chuckle, "and not to mention, frequently."

"That's enough, I've had it with you!" he bounded over and threw a punch straight at his face.

With nearly effortless agility, Dorian blocked the shot, catching his wrist in mid-punch. He then used the leverage to push him down on the ground.

Bobby clamored to his feet, seething in hatred. He would have thrown another punch had he not been so pleasantly surprised by the reaction of Dorian's new lady friend.

"Funny, I didn't know a brawl was part of the entertainment this afternoon," she said sarcastically.

Dorian chuckled, "Nor did I, for that matter!

She sighed at him, "Well, thank you for the little tour, Dorian, but I have no plans on being another notch in your bedpost. If you'll excuse me,"

Bobby was looking rather smug at this point, "Yes, and stay away from him if you know what's good for you!" he shouted after her.

Harriet put a hand over her mouth in attempt to hold back laughter. The look on Dorian's face was priceless.

He composed himself before speaking, "Very well, play your game if it amuses you. It is understandable why you're so jealous, remind me if I have ever seen you with a woman at your side."

Bobby laughed, "I'm simply doing her a favor. And anyway, I should be going now. Best of luck with her, Dorian."

Harriet burst out laughing as he walked away. She would never let him live this down. "Oh my, I'm sorry... your _face_,"

Dorian scowled and shot her a deadly look, though it did nothing but instigate the laughter. He fumed silently for a moment, ignoring her as she continued her teasing. When Harriet collected herself enough to get a few breaths in, she looked up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I am _so_ glad I came with you today."

He paid no attention to her. His face, formerly like a stone, cracked a mischievous grin as he looked out toward the direction Amelia had taken off in. This was far from over.

* * *

**A/N: As usual, thank you for the views, reviews, and favorites on previous chapters. I'm so glad you all are enjoying the story so far.**

I sent my laptop in a few weeks ago to get fixed and recently recieved news that they were not able to fix it. I hope to recieve my new computer by friday, but lately I've been having to use the computer lab at my college for all of my internet needs, so things have been a bit... interesting, haha.

I'm trying to shoot for a chapter a week, but unfortunately school has to be my number one priority. Nevertheless, I intend to try my best to put chapters up on a regular basis.

**Thanks again for reading, reviews are most welcome! ^^**


	4. Bagsby's Books

_Disclaimer: Reaver belongs to Liohead Studios, all other characters belong to me._

* * *

_Chapter Four: Bagsby's Books_

Amelia shut the front door harder than usual and climbed the steps without saying a word to her father. She plopped herself down on her mattress and gave an irritated sigh. She should have expected that much from Dorian, in fact, she initially had expected that much from him. So why was she so upset? She stared idly at the cobwebs in the rafters as she pondered it. She felt foolish for believing, if only for a second, that Dorian was in fact a decent gentleman who just so happened to be very flirtatious. Apparently it was tradition that he sample the newcomers, going by what Bobby had said.

No, she was not about to fall into his trap, this was not going to be like the last time.

She eyed the newly stocked bookshelf at the end of her bed, organized by genre, as she'd always done. On the top shelf, there was mystery and crime followed by a few horror books tacked onto the end. Then there was the shelf that contained historical fiction and war novels. Below it, nonfiction and biographies, and finally, on the bottom shelf sat fantasy, drama, and a few romance, which had depleted significantly since her younger days.

It was three years ago that it happened. She had been barely eighteen when a young man by the name of Desmond decided he would court her. It was a time when she believed fairytale romance was possible, and that someday, she would find a Prince Charming of her own. She had been so naïve, so eager to receive compliments and flattery. Looking back, the whole ordeal had been terribly silly. She hated the fact that she actually believed him when he told her he loved her. To this day she remained fairly certain that she never really loved him either, but that did not matter. He got what he wanted from her, and after that he lost interest. It was after that incident that she began to stray from romance and fantasy, and started taking a liking to war stories and historical fiction.

She felt like such an idiot, he'd tricked and used her, and she was not about to let that happen again. Of course, this Dorian character was in a league of his own. Never in her life had she met someone so blatant, so confidant in their ability to charm anyone they wished. Even she would admit, he was very good at it, in fact, it almost frightened her.

She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, her father's no doubt. He walked over to her with a concerned expression on his face and sat down on the bed beside her.

"Amelia, are you alright?" he asked kindly.

"Yes, I'm ok," she gave a warm smile, "Did you know they have a bookstore in town?" she changed the subject.

"Do they really? That's wonderful!"

"Yes, I intend to go there tomorrow, would you like to come with?"

"Certainly! It's about time I get out of the house anyway. How was your trip around town, see any other interesting things? Meet any new people?"

"There's a town square with some other places like a bakery and butcher shop, that's where the bookstore is. There's also a beach nearby, though I didn't visit there today." She had no desire to mention Dorian.

"Wonderful, I look forward to visiting these places!"

She smiled at him, "As do I."

Mr. Brighton looked kindly upon his daughter, "So, do you like it here?"

"Yes, I do very much, it's beautiful."

"Good. And there is nothing bothering you?"

"No, I'm fine, really." She smiled earnestly. Amelia had always tried to be honest with her father, but there were some things she really felt he didn't need to know. She was ashamed enough that the situation with Desmond ever occurred, telling her father would do nothing but further her embarrassment and cause him sadness and worry. He'd seen enough heartbreak when her mother left, he didn't need to know about Desmond, or Dorian for that matter.

"Alright, I just wanted to make sure," he gave her a kiss on the forehead, "How about we go start dinner, hm?"

"Sure, I'm getting kind of hungry now that you mention it," she said, and followed her father downstairs.

* * *

In the third day since they arrived, it was finally starting to look like they'd made progress in unpacking. Amelia spent a portion of that morning helping her father take out most of the bottles, flasks, and other apothecary ingredients. They figured they would need to purchase a few tables, but the house had come with a large counter area that wrapped around a good portion of the room, perfect for experimenting and displaying goods.

"Alright, that seems like enough progress for now. How about we take a break and go see that bookstore you've been telling me about, hm?"

"That sounds like a great idea, I'll go get my shoes and we can head out."

Amelia and her father were just about to leave when they heard a knock on the door. Standing outside was a tall man with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. "Hello, you must be our new neighbors," he said. "I'm Robert Ashfield, pleasure to meet you," he extended his hand, Mr. Brighton shook it.

"Oh, why hello! Arthur Brighton, please, do come in!"

Dr. Ashfied stepped inside. "Forgive me for not stopping by sooner, I just got back in town."

"No need to apologize, we've had plenty of visitors as it is! This is my daughter, Amelia."

She shook his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"A pleasure to meet you too. And yes, people do tend to get excited when we get new residents, it is a small place after all. I just thought that as a member of the oldest family in Oakvale I thought it would only be proper for me to welcome you personally into our village."

This sparked Mr. Brighton's curiosity, "Really, the oldest family? How far do your relatives go back, if you don't mind me asking?"

Amelia could tell he enjoyed this question very much, "Oh, I certainly don't mind at all. We have relatives dating back to when this village was rebuilt after a devastating bandit attack nearly three hundred years ago."

"Fascinating!"

"Yes, most of our relatives, however, have either moved elsewhere or died, that is to say, except for the Masons who live right up the hill."

Amelia remembered the Mason house from her tour yesterday.

"My daughter tells me you own an apothecary, is that right?"

"It is indeed, I hope to open shop in about a week, but we'll see how that goes."

"Wonderful. You know, as a physician I suspect we will be doing business often."

Mr. Brighton smiled, "And I look forward to it!"

It was then that she was certain. "You're Harriet's father, aren't you? She mentioned her father was a doctor."

"I am indeed! So you've met Harriet? That doesn't surprise me, she was awfully excited when she heard we were getting new neighbors, always up to date on the latest gossip," he chuckled, "you of course, know what I'm talking about, Arthur."

Mr. Brighton gave an almost nervous chuckle. Though he indeed knew what he meant, he had never really experienced that sort of behavior from Amelia.

"Say, I know this is rather soon, but you don't happen to know a good clotting recipe, do you? I've been rather unhappy with the remedy I ordered, they seemed to have changed the recipe for the worst."

"I do actually! Let me see, it should be in one of these boxes here…" he turned to rummage through a storage crate, "Do you happen to know what specifically they changed?"

They went at it for about fifteen minutes, talking about this and that, what ingredients worked best with what potion and the like, until Mr. Brighton noticed his daughter was still waiting patiently by the door. "Amelia, if you want to head up to the bookstore now, that would be alright with me. I can always go some other day, don't worry about it," he smiled kindly.

"Alright, I'll let you know how it is. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Ashfield." It was really quite alright, her father seemed to be enjoying himself anyway.

"A pleasure meeting you too. You'll enjoy the bookstore, Ms. Bagsby will be glad to have a new customer."

She waved the two of them goodbye and took off up the road.

It was not long before she reached the town square. She hardly minded walking by herself, in fact, it was something she was fairly used to, being an only child. Besides, it was a beautiful summer day. During her walk she remained fairly alert, hoping not to run into Dorian again. Residents seemed to take special notice of her though, she received many greetings and curious looks. She stopped outside the bookstore and looked up at the sign. "Bagsby's Books" it read.

Amelia heard a little bell as she opened the door. It was a cozy little place. On the other side of the counter sat a slender woman in her mid 50's, possibly early 60's. Her hair was worn in a loose bun, mostly grey with a tinge of brown streaked throughout. She appeared to be making some sort of note on a small ledger in front of her.

"Well hello there! I don't think I've ever seen you before." She peered over the rims of her cat-eye glasses, studying her curiously.

Amelia smiled, "You're right, I just moved here about three days ago."

"Oh! So you're one of our new neighbors. I was wondering when you'd move in, welcome to Oakvale!"

"Thank you, I am certainly enjoying it here so far, I've never experienced this sort of country lifestyle."

"I'm glad, where are you from exactly?"

"Bowerstone."

"You don't say! My son recently moved to Bowerstone, Alan Bagsby, have you heard of him?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Ah, he moved out about a year ago, he's a fairly recent resident there."

She nodded, acknowledging her comment. The shop smelled like old books, quite appropriately. She enjoyed that smell very much, although she could never quite decide if she preferred the smell of old books over new ones. The place had two stories, over the banister she could see even more bookshelves, all full. The place had a sort of homey feel to it, among the shelves she noticed an odd collection of decorations. They were like nothing she'd ever seen before, as if they were acquired in some other country or region.

Suddenly she remembered, as if shaken from a dream, that she hadn't properly introduced herself. "I'm Amelia Brighton by the way," she extended a hand to her.

"Belinda Bagsby," she returned the handshake and smiled sincerely, "you can just call me Belinda."

Amelia smiled and acknowledged.

"Feel free to look around, of course." Belinda said, winking.

She continued to explore the shop, her eyes still finding new trinkets and oddities scattered about. A rather exotic looking sculpture sat atop its own small shelf on the wall. From what she could infer, it was a chubby clay figure of a person with strange markings. She approached the piece to examine it further.

"I got that one in Aurora," said Belinda.

Amelia turned her head quickly, surprised. "You've been to _Aurora_?"

Belinda chuckled, "Yes, a long time ago. My father, rest his soul, left me a pretty decent sum of money when he died. I'd always wanted to see the world, and so when I was presented with an opportunity, I took it."

"That's incredible! So I take it all these other pieces are from your travels as well?"

"Yes, I always made a point to bring back a little souvenir with me."

Amelia smiled, amazed. "So, what brought you to Oakvale? If you don't mind me asking, I mean, you could have chosen anywhere in the world, why here?"

Belinda chuckled, "After I had my son I wanted a quiet place with plenty of space and a small community. Oakvale's country setting was perfect."

"Hm, that makes sense."

"Yes, and Oakvale was without a bookstore, so I was in luck. Alan was about three when we moved, and we've been here ever since. It's a very nice place, you'll like it here."

"I already do," she smiled earnestly.

"Good, I'm glad." Belinda returned the smile.

Amelia could easily get lost in bookstores, and this one was especially fascinating. She continued to browse, admiring the many leather-bound books and exotic decorations. There was a part of her that had always wished she too could go on such adventures, although she knew not how she'd manage, or if she'd ever have the chance. As far as she could tell, there was a good chance her adventures would only ever exist in fiction.

All together she spent about an hour browsing, chatting occasionally with Belinda. After much deliberation, she made three purchases; two crime novels and a historical fiction. She would have bought more, but she didn't have much money on her.

"Hmm, interesting choice," said Belinda, picking up one of the crime novels, "I've read this myself, it's very good. You're an avid reader, I take it?"

Amelia chuckled, "Oh, you have no idea."

She had a feeling she'd be coming back a lot.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so this chapter was very Amelia-centric, but I figured to was necessary to explain more of her background. Belinda is also an important character, you'll be seeing more of her for sure. **

**By the way, I did manage to get a new computer and I've been very happy with it so far. Thanks for your concern, anonymous reviewer! ^^ The only thing I'm missing now is my mouse, which I regretfully left at home. (Bahh and I need it to play Team Fortress 2!) Oh well, I'll get it together eventually.**

**As always, thanks for reading, please leave a review on the way out! ^^**


	5. Bitter Beginnings

**Disclaimer: Reaver and Fable belong to Lionhead Studios, all other characters belong to me.**

_Chapter Five: _

_Bitter Beginnings_

Dorian put his feet up on the worn kitchen table as he sipped his morning coffee. Technically, it was the afternoon, but to Dorian, morning was whenever he decided to wake up. He gazed listlessly out the window opposite him as he pondered to himself. He'd given it a few days since his last encounter with Amelia, as it did not exactly end on a good note. He chuckled inwardly, as if a few days would magically mend the situation. Never mind, this would make the pursuit all the more interesting. She did not seem to be as easily swayed by his charms as others had been, or perhaps she was just very good at hiding it. Perhaps he would visit her today. Yes, that sounded like a splendid idea.

Suddenly a knock at the door shook him out of his thoughts. As he approached he could have sworn he heard the sounds of stifled laughter fading in the distance. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows and opened the door. There was no one to be found. He rolled his eyes and cursed the fact that he lived so close to the schoolhouse. He glanced around in all directions, searching for the culprits, and stepped out of his door to get a better look around. When he put his foot down, however, he did not feel earth, rather a squishy softness between his toes that crunched under his weight. Almost instantaneously, he realized what it was. Dorian leapt backward, shrieking. A dead squirrel that lay at his doorstep, the flies already going at it, and he had stepped right on it with his bare foot. He was thankful no one was around, he must have looked like a pre-teen girl as he flailed about, stricken with horror and disgust. Oh how death sickened him, it was a cruel trick indeed. When he'd finally calmed down enough to get a grip, he dampened a towel to clean off his foot, cursing himself again for living so close to the schoolhouse. He then fetched a spade and flung the dead creature far away from his yard. He shut the door behind him once back inside. With an irritated sigh he sat back down. There were certainly more preferable ways to start one's day.

His pistol lay on the other side of the table, gleaming in the sunlight. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It felt like ages had passed since the days when he would run through the fields as a child with a small toy one in hand. Though thoroughly disgusted, he had to laugh. This grotesque prank did not seem far off from something he may have done as a child, although he knew for a fact he would not have settled for a decaying creature to lay at someone's door. He was quite a lively child though, always looking for adventure and mischief, always charming his way out of trouble.

His pistol, the real one, had been his inheritance from his father, who when he was about four years old went off to serve the King's army. He never returned, alive that is. He could remember it still today; the knock at the door, the men in uniforms, his mother's tears. The men left them with what they could find of his belongings, among them was a pistol. Dorian had always emulated his father, he wanted to be a brave fighter like he was, to have adventures like he did. With the shock of his death, however, little Dorian realized that war was not a fantastic adventure, that there were often consequences to fighting like that. Nevertheless, his father remained a hero to him, a distant figure whom he'd had so little memorable contact that to this day he still speculated whether the man he remembered as his father had been real or simply a culmination of ideal qualities that he had imagined him to be.

When he was old enough, his mother let him have the pistol. He was only to use it in a shooting range, of course, supervised, and he was not to carry it anywhere else. His first shot was not half bad, in fact, those watching had believed at first that he had handled one before.

He polished it off a bit with his shirt and set it into a nearby kitchen drawer. He never felt the need to carry it around with him, unless he planned to show off with it. He would save that for some other time. Today, he intended to pay his favorite new neighbor another visit.

* * *

Amelia leaned against a large oak tree just outside her house, thankful for the shade as the afternoon sun hung high in the sky. She relished the warm, summer breeze as it came over her and curled her toes in the soft grass. She had just begun a brand new book she had gotten the other day from the bookstore, a historical fiction, and did not get much further than a few pages when she saw a vaguely familiar figure out of the corner of her eye, a man with tousled brown hair and an easy-going stride. He noticed her within moments, looking pleased to see her sitting outside so comfortably, as if waiting for him. He smiled and quickly made his way over to her. She sighed and braced herself.

"Hello, my dear. Lovely weather we're having, don't you agree?"

"Hello, Dorian," she said flatly.

He came closer, "You know, it's rather a pity our little tour had to end so abruptly, I do apologize for the… interruption."

"Apology accepted."

"The invitation is still open if you'd like to join me on a boat ride this afternoon. Why, we could even bring along some wine, maybe make a nice picnic out of it…"

"Dorian, while I admire your enthusiasm, I do have standards."

"Jumping to conclusions are we?"

"I'm not an idiot, you've probably done this with every new woman to set foot in this town."

"I most certainly haven't!" he exclaimed, "Only the attractive ones."

Amelia gave him a look as he chuckled.

"That was a compliment, you know."

She shook her head and returned to her reading, trying to ignore him. He stood there, watching her for a moment. Her reddish hair was in a single French braid today. A few wisps framed her face and blew across her forehead in the wind. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on what she was reading.

"Perhaps if you get your head out of that book, one of these days we can have ourselves a grand old time in reality."

"Perhaps if you get your head out of your arse I'll consider."

He clutched his chest, feigning hurt. "Such venom! Oh, I doubt my poor heart will ever recover," he smiled with his eyes.

She rolled her eyes and said nothing.

Moments passed without a word between them. He folded his arms, leaning up against the tree, as if waiting for a response. She could practically feel his stare as he watched her, that silly, smug look on his face no doubt. No matter, she would resume reading as though he was not even there. She would act as though he were completely invisible and completely unimportant. Though as she scanned the next few lines of text, twice over, comprehending absolutely nothing, she realized she may have lost this round.

"Dorian, I'm not interested."

"What are you reading about?" he asked innocently.

She couldn't decide whether to answer him or just stay silent. He tapped his thin, dexterous fingers absentmindedly on the tree, waiting for an answer. She sighed and turned the book over in her hand and held it up for him to read.

"_Banquet for a King_," he read, "Certainly sounds interesting. Are you enjoying it?"

"It's hard to tell, I just started."

"Hm, fair enough," Dorian sat down beside her, she cracked open the book again and he peered over her shoulder, a playful smirk on his face.

She tried to ignore him again, this time she could feel his warm breath on her neck. She flushed a little and bored her eyes into the lines of the text, comprehending nothing, but refusing to give in.

The wind blew, fluttering his thin, white shirt. He smelled nice. It wasn't a flowery scent, or a sweet scent, or any sort of cologne; he just smelled good, a natural scent. He was watching her now, a smile playing on his eyes.

She sighed and looked straight at him, "What?"

He chuckled. "My dear, you make it so easy to get under your skin. I find it incredibly amusing." He lowered his voice to a purr. "Irresistible, one might say."

She scowled disgustedly. "Oh, but certainly not as irresistible as you are, Dorian. Why, I can't imagine anyone would ever be able to resist such charms!" Her words dripped with sarcasm.

"Nor could I for that matter! It would be downright silly to think such a thing." He grinned at her, thoroughly amused.

She shut her book. There was really no winning here. He clearly liked to push her buttons, why indulge him? "You know, I was really enjoying myself out here. It's a pity I have to head in so soon." She stood up and headed for the door.

Dorian laughed, "Who says you have to?"

She glared at him, "Good day, Dorian." She shut the door behind her.

He folded his arms and stared at the door for a moment, a smirk playing on his features. That certainly could have gone better, but he couldn't resist pressing her buttons. _This will be a fun one to pursue,_ he mused. She certainly was a lively character. _Ah well, I suppose I will see if Harriet and her friends care to watch me shoot something._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: So they're off to a bitter start, much to his amusement. I do enjoy writing their banters, there will be much more of those to come. A lot of introductions and explanations were needed so far, but it will pick up very soon. Your reviews are greatly encouraged, I would like to know what you think! Also, I want to thank those of you who have reviewed so far, it helps keep me motivated. ^^ **

**Until next time, tatty-bye and thanks for reading! **


	6. One Month Later

Chapter Six: One Month Later

The weeks passed quickly as Amelia and her father adjusted to their new life in Oakvale. Business in the apothecary had been doing very well ever since it opened. When she wasn't helping her father, Amelia would spend time with Belinda at the bookstore, which was easily her favorite place in Oakvale.

Today was one of those days. The sun hung high in the late afternoon as she walked along the road, her arm swinging a basket with a few books inside. Fall was coming soon, she could smell it in the air.

After a month of living in the village, Amelia realized that there were two things she had underestimated; the power of jealousy, and the rate at which rumors travel in a small village. Her relationship with the ever charming Dorian Maslow quickly became the hot topic in Oakvale. The village watched with hushed anticipation as the drama unfolded before them like a soap opera.

The scene she'd made in front of the well yesterday only encouraged it. Typically Dorian's idle prattle was tolerable, if not on occasion amusing. She'd made an effort to appear unaffected by his ostentatious flirting, but yesterday he had been most especially irritating. He'd brought along a crowd this time, a small cluster of women which she may have acknowledged once or twice in passing. The notion in itself was obnoxious. With the way the women in this town swooned over him she didn't have to see his personal harem to believe it.

"_I see you've brought an audience."_

"_Just some friends of mine out for a midday stroll. You're welcome to join us if you like." He flashed her one of his signature smiles, one of the women giggled behind him._

"_Once again, as much as it pains me I will have to politely decline the invitation."_

_He tisked, "Amelia, my dear, the day has practically just begun! What could possibly be keeping you from enjoying this lovely afternoon in the company of myself and a few friends?"_

_She gave a dry laugh, "Dorian, no amount of moral support is going to help your cause. Sorry to disappoint you."_

"_I could always get rid of them, would you rather a private walk instead?" A few disgusted noises issued from the group, he turned his head and winked at them._

"_No, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me I have places to be."_

"_Ah-ah, not so fast, my dear," he caught her around the waist, water sloshed in the bucket she was carrying, spilling on to her shoe. _

"_Get your hands off of me!" she shoved his arm away with her free hand._

_He did not attempt again, but he did not back off. "Really, Amelia, what sort of places are you needed so much that you cannot spare time?"_

"_That's none of your business, and honestly I can hardly say you've proven yourself deserving of my free time anyhow, following me about with your personal harem!" The gasps and scowls that issued from the group made her regret she'd said the last part. At this point she might as well be the one stoking the fire in the hearth of gossip._

_Dorian gave a chuckle, amused by her comment, "Well, that's all fine and dandy, my dear, but as you stare at the cold, lifeless pages of your book tonight, I want to you to think about the warmth you could be sharing had you chosen to spend the evening in my company instead."_

What happened next came as a shock, arguably even to Amelia herself. The argument came to an abrupt end when Amelia flung the entire contents of her water bucket straight into Dorian's face, drenching him completely. Amelia stalked off as a roar of laughter ensued. Looking back, she was thankful he had brought them along.

She had grown accustom to the odd questions asked to her by those she had met only once, curious if the rumors were true. She'd give them credit for having the guts to ask her about it at least, perhaps it would do good to get some truth into their ears.

It was late afternoon when she creaked open the door to the bookstore.

"Hello, Amelia," Belinda smiled, her warm eyes wrinkling in the corners.

"Hey, Belinda." She gave a little wave.

"Any juicy news today?" she asked, her usual question as of late.

"Haven't you heard? I'm a lesbian now."

"Is that so?" Belinda feigned surprise.

"That's the latest gossip."

Belinda gave a soft chuckle and shook her head. "He still hasn't given up, has he?"

"Oh I doubt he'll ever give up. It's far too much fun for him. Besides, the neighbors seem to be thoroughly amused by my torment, who am I to deny them?"

Belinda gave a snort as she sorted through bookkeeping cards, her cat-eyed glasses pushed to the tip of her nose. Amelia took a seat in one of the large leather reading chairs, blowing a wisp of hair out of her face.

"He came in yesterday looking for you."

Amelia gave a dry laugh, "Oh did he? I do hope he bothered to dry himself off first."

She chuckled, "I heard about that. And yes, he was dry."

"Good, it would have been a shame if he'd have left puddles on your nice rugs," she said matter-of-factly, "I should really find a less obvious hiding spot."

"You've resorted to hiding now? I didn't know it was getting to be that bad, you've always been so upfront with him!" she teased.

Amelia shook her head and smiled, "And I'll continue to be. You know what I mean, sometimes I just wish I had a place where I knew he couldn't find me."

"That's understandable."

Amelia shuffled her feet on the soft, ornate rug beneath her. She sat back, sinking into the soft leather chair, reveling in the comfort and familiarity the smell of old books had the effect of bringing. The bookstore had become like a haven to her, it was as though the small confines of the place existed in an entirely different realm from the world outside its door. Whispers of adventure issued from the books and exotic decorations like a promise and a memory in one. It was as though it was alive in its own way, there was a character to the place that was both welcoming and intriguing. Amelia would never forget it as long as she lived.

"You know, you could always go to the cemetery. It's a beautiful place regardless of its purpose, I doubt he'd ever look there."

"I can't say I've ever visited the cemetery here."

"If you keep going past the school house you'll come across a small path on a hill to the right, it will lead you there."

It became obvious why she'd never discovered it, she tended to avoid the area where Dorian lived. "Thank you, I have a feeling I'll be making use of it."

"I do hope you'll still frequent the store, it's been nice having you around," she smiled warmly.

"Oh of course I will! You know I can't keep away for long." When she thought about it, Belinda was the only real friend she'd made since she arrived.

"Good," she said, "You know, come to think of it, there was someone else who came in yesterday looking for you too, Bobby Weston."

"Bobby Weston? I've hardly ever spoken to him, I can't imagine why he'd be looking for me."

"He didn't say."

"Honestly, you'd think he'd check my house first. I'll never understand these men."

Belinda chuckled, "I'll agree with you on that one."

* * *

The sun was beginning to set by the time Amelia made the walk home from the bookstore. Twilight had always been her favorite time of day, the time when everything was drowned in a bluish haze, whispering promise of night. She thought for a moment to sit outside and enjoy it, but she figured it would be wise to return to her father first, as she hadn't been home since the late afternoon.

She did not expect when she took the handle to open the door to have it open for her. She gasped, flinching her hand away from the knob. A pair of subtle brown eyes met hers with equal surprise.

"Oh! Hello, Bobby," she said, recovering from startle. "I… what are brings you here?"

"Oh, I was actually looking for you."

"Oh, yes, Belinda mentioned you came into the bookstore yesterday with the intention of finding me."

"Yes, I was... I mean I still am. Here, why don't we step out of the doorway," he closed the door behind them, the two of them stepped out into the walkway. Amelia folded her arms against the slight chill in the breeze. "I heard what happened yesterday, with Dorian. Good for you putting him in his place," he said with a chuckle.

Amelia gave a slight laugh, "Yes, I'm beginning to doubt there is a soul in Oakvale who hasn't heard of it by now. Word seems to spread like wildfire around these parts."

"Yes, I suppose that's what you get when you live in a small town," he smirked.

"Hm, I suppose it is." Amelia searched him over with her eyes, "That can't be all you came to tell me, is it?"

"No, it isn't." He cleared his throat and began, "So, I know this is your first year in town, so you probably aren't aware of the festival coming up. Every year on the first day of Fall, we have a festival to celebrate the beginning of the harvest season. It's one of the biggest gatherings we have all year, I guess you could describe it as more like a ball than a festival, but there are all sorts of things that take place, not just dancing. With you never having been to one before, I thought I would ask you if you wanted to go with me."

She had to admit, she was more than a bit surprised. It was a kind offer, but she'd hardly ever spoken to him. Was this a date? A ply to make Dorian jealous? "So… when is the first day of Fall technically?"

"Ten days from now, on Saturday. It starts at five o'clock in the evening and can last well into the night."

"Ah. Well, this was certainly unexpected. I have no other obligations, however. What's there to lose? I accept your invitation." She gave a slight laugh.

"Excellent! I will pick you up here at five next Saturday then," he smiled at her.

"Alright, I will see you then." The two of them waved an awkward goodbye and Bobby set off on the road.

Amelia watched him as he left, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She didn't dislike the idea of going with him, but what had prompted him to ask all of a sudden? How long had he been planning this? Had he always liked her? She was curious. It would certainly get a rise out of Dorian, whether that was his intention or not.

The next ten days would certainly be interesting, of that much she was certain.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay on this one, I've been very busy for the past month (Dragon Age 2 didn't help with that .). I hope you all enjoyed the chapter (it's been a long time coming), after I get past these next few weeks I should be able to post more frequently. I wholeheartedly intend to finish this fic, and it's just getting started, so stay seated for the ride! :)

As always, reviews are welcomed and encouraged, I'd love to know what you all think. ^^


	7. Tastes and Perspectives

**Chapter Seven: **

**Tastes and Perspectives**

Amelia almost tripped as she tried to step out of the lavender dress. It was sort of cramped in the corner of the bookstore balcony. Belinda was excited to hear the news of Bobby asking her to the festival and wanted to see her in some of the dresses she owned. She happily obliged, seeing that she could really use all the help she could get picking out something that was appropriate for this sort of thing.

"Quite a bold move on Bobby's part, don't you think?" Belinda shouted up to her.

"Oh yes, in fact I wonder whether he's doing this just to spite Dorian." She leaned up against the wall for balance as she pulled on the magenta dress.

"I'm sure that's not the only reason, dear. You're certainly a lovely girl, it's only a bonus that asking you would make Dorian jealous. Those two have never gotten along well."

"I suppose you're right," she pulled the dress up over her waist and began on the buttons, "I wonder if Dorian knows about it."

"You haven't seen him today? I'm surprised!"

"I haven't heard a word from him since I drenched him. It's strange isn't it? It makes me wonder if he's up to something." Amelia fastened the last button and tugged the ruffled sleeves over her shoulders. "Ok, what about this one?" She stumbled over a book on the floor as she tried to maneuver her way to the top of the steps.

Belinda looked up at her from the bottom and assessed her. Her eyes narrowed behind her cat-eye spectacles as she pursed her lips in thought. "This one certainly looks lovely on you, it fits you better than the lavender one, but I feel like there are more suitable colors to compliment your red hair. The magenta just seems too dark on you, what you need is something light, like a blue or green."

Amelia looked down at the dress, twisting left and right to try and get a better look at herself. Belinda was right about the color. Reflecting on the few times she'd worn it, she felt a bit silly for not having a better sense of picking out things that suited her. The clothes she wore daily were plain and functional if anything.

"Here, come down and use the mirror," Belinda turned around to pick up the picture frame-sized mirror from behind her and held it in front of her.

Amelia padded down the steps and stood in front of it. "You're right, this one does fit me better, but I'm afraid this is the last of the dresses I brought."

"Hmm," Belinda put a finger to her lip, furrowing her eyebrows in thought as she looked her over. "You know, I might actually have a dress at home that might fit you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, of course it doesn't fit me anymore, it was one of my favorites from when I was younger. I think it would look marvelous on you! The color will suit you a lot better than this one, it's a sort of mint green color, and very appropriate for the festival. It's one of those things that never goes out of style, I think you might like it quite a bit."

"Oh that sounds lovely! Thank you so much, I can't wait to see it!"

Belinda gave a warm smile, "Of course, dear, you know I'm more than happy to help. Besides, it's fun having someone around I can dress up. I suppose that's what I get for only having a son," she chuckled.

Amelia smiled, "Well, I'm more than happy to help with that."

"Good to know, dear." Belinda turned to put the mirror back on the wall.

"I'd better change back into my regular clothes if I want to avoid the funny looks. I think I'm going to visit the cemetery today."

"Oh, yes, it is very beautiful up there, I'm certain you'll love it."

"It's up a hill past the schoolhouse, right?" she said, making her way up the steps.

"That's right, just up the hill."

Amelia turned the corner and changed back into her casual cotton dress. She folded the other three and slung them over her arms. "Thanks for everything, Belinda, I can't wait to see the dress," she said, descending the steps. "I think I'm going to head home and drop these dresses off before I go and visit the cemetery."

"Oh you're most welcome, dear. I'll bring it in tomorrow, does that sound alright?"

"Yes, that sounds great! I'll see you tomorrow then," and with that she set off for home.

* * *

It was late afternoon when she left for the cemetery. She hardly ever visited the northwest side of the village, Dorian lived up that way. His house seemed quiet when she passed, it looked as though no one was home right now, thankfully. She looked toward the schoolhouse across the road and thought about how he mentioned his mother used to teach there. Up ahead she saw a few of what she presumed to be the Mason children playing in their yard. Finally she came to the hill as described and figured it had to be the place. When she reached the top she came upon a rusty old gate with a trail leading inside. Book in hand, she lifted the leaver on the gate and it creaked open. She stopped at the entrance and looked around. It was surprising to see so much life in a place that was home to so much death. Sunlight poured down over the fields that were alive with flowers scattered among the tombstones. She flinched a little as she swatted away one of the numerous dragonflies. Belinda was right, it was very beautiful indeed, arguably one of the most beautiful places in Oakvale. She wondered if people came here often.

She walked slowly along the path, taking in all of the various shapes and sizes of tombstones, and the names on them. One didn't have to look hard to spot an Ashfield grave, Harriet wasn't kidding when she said they were the oldest family in Oakvale. Occasionally she spotted a few Weston graves, and many names she'd never even heard of. Some of the gravestones were very old, and hardly legible. She scanned them regardless, looking for names that sounded familiar, imagining how they might have been related to those she knew. It was a calm and peaceful place, one that seemed to promise eternal rest. Sunlight beamed down through the trees overhead, creating a lacy pattern on the ground. As she walked, she passed a small pond next to an old, stone gazebo. She could hear frogs and birds in the distance, but other than that it was pretty quiet. She rounded the gazebo, noting the ivy and scanning the surrounding graves again until one of them caught her eye. _Maslow_, _that's Dorian's last name, isn't it?_

Coming closer, she noticed there were in fact two Maslow graves, side by side. Samuel and Miriam Maslow. Judging by the years they lived, she presumed they were his parents. She felt her heart sink. It was strange, she knew his parents had died, but it was different actually seeing their graves. His father's grave looked older, and she noted the year of his death. It was nearly twenty years ago, Dorian must have been very young when he died. His mother's grave, however, was only four years old. Amelia recalled the lavender shutters on Dorian's house, the empty flowerbox, the overgrown lawn. Four years wasn't very long ago. It must have been terrible, losing his mother. She couldn't imagine losing her father. Dorian must have had grown up in a similar way that she had, with only one parent. As much as he got on her nerves, she couldn't help but feel sorry for what happened. She glanced over at a patch of wild, blue flowers growing by the pond. She took a few and laid them on their graves, saying a silent prayer to Avo, to whatever god was listening, if they were even there at all.

* * *

It was sunset when Amelia decided to head home. She closed her book quietly and sat back in her seat at the gazebo, admiring the view one last time before heading off. Such a peaceful place, she knew she would be coming here often. She could see dragonflies buzzing about in the distance by the pond, and a few rabbits hopping between the tombstones. When she finally stood up to exit, she noticed a strange opening in the trees, as though it was put there on purpose. Curious as she was, she decided to investigate. Upon further inspection it appeared to be a small path she'd overlooked on her way up. It must not have been used often, grass was starting to overgrow it, probably explaining why she missed it. At a glance it would look as though nothing was there.

Amelia looked to the sun, it wasn't yet low in the sky, she probably still had a good half hour before dinner time. She figured it shouldn't take too long to quench her curiosity and see where it went. The path was heavily shaded, only fragments of light made it through the trees. The forest was significantly thicker in this part, and not a gravestone in sight. Occasionally she heard the call of a bird, but the path was very quiet. Where the cemetery was full of life, she began to feel as though a deadly silence had overcome the forest. Turning the corner, she came upon a large stone wall embedded into the hillside. It must have been about twenty feet long with nothing but a large, ivy-covered door on the outside. Her best bet was that they were catacombs, and apparently it had been a while since anyone had used them.

There was something very unnatural about this place. It was as though suddenly the world got darker, colder, in its presence. She came closer and narrowed in on the strange scorpion-like seal on the door and traced it with her fingers. The mark was unusual, nothing like a family crest, or religious marking, or anything she'd ever seen before. She shivered as a chill went up her spine that came from nowhere and withdrew her hand from the door. Growing increasingly uneasy, her eyes darted about, half-expecting something to jump out at her. She could have sworn she heard faint whispers from beyond the wall. She was afraid now. She turned to run, darting down the path she came. Everything seemed to have gotten darker. Finally she reached the cemetery, but the feeling remained. She tried to soak its beauty as she hurried along the dirt path, as if to drown out the feeling of uneasiness that overcame her so quickly, but it wouldn't leave her. Suddenly, the cemetery seemed larger than she thought it was. It felt as though it took her twice as long to reach the gate while moving twice as fast. When she finally did, she was out of breath. She turned and looked back across the cemetery. With the catacombs out of sight, she shut the rusty gate behind her and set off toward home.

* * *

Dorian tapped his fingers on the worn oak table as Abigail sorted through her cards, furrowing her eyebrows in concentration. She glanced up at him, his calm, almost smug expression silently taunting her as she took her time. He could tell she was struggling. Abigail folded her cards in a huff and gave Dorian a look. "You're cheating."

"Am not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Alright then, how?"

"I don't know!"

"Well then, there you go. You have no case to make without evidence, my dear."

Abigail got quiet for a moment, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously. "It just seems like something you'd do."

Dorian chuckled, "Oh, well that settles everything then!"

Harriet rolled her eyes, "Will you two knock it off? Honestly, I thought this whole cooking dinner thing was supposed to be a collaborative effort," she said, giving the pot a few stirs.

"Sorry, you can play next round if you want, if you don't mind playing with cheaters," she said, narrowing her eyes at Dorian again.

"She has no proof of anything, she's just a sore loser."

Abigail glared at him, to which Dorian gave a facetious grin. "Sorry, Harriet, I'll come help now," she said, getting up to look at the recipe. "Dorian, where do you keep your potatoes?"

"Actually I'm afraid we won't be having potatoes in our stew tonight, that is unless you want to be up sick all night, or dead perhaps," Harriet pulled out an old cutting board, "I don't even want to guess at how long they've been sitting around, I tossed them outside if you're really curious."

Dorian laughed, "They were that old? Funny, I could have sworn they were still good last I checked."

"When was the last time you checked?"

"It's been so long I can't remember!"

The three of them had themselves a good laugh, Harriet's mood seemed to lighten as she moved to stir the pot again. "Honestly, Dorian, it makes me afraid to use any of the other food you have in your kitchen. I don't know how you've survived on your own for so long like this."

"I must say, it is nice having a well-cooked meal every once in a while, that's why I keep you around, dear." He flashed her a silly grin which she returned with a look that wiped it clean off his face. "Fine, give me something to slice."

Harriet handed him a carrot and he got to work. A few moments of silence passed before Abigail started conversation again. "So, Dorian, finally given up on Amelia?"

Harriet rolled her eyes, "Don't get your hopes up."

"What makes you think that, Abigail?" Dorian asked casually, a slight grin on his face.

"You haven't tried to visit her in days," she blew on the spoon and tasted it, "that's like, an eternity in your time!"

Dorian chuckled, "I haven't given up, dear. I've just been giving her some time to cool off since our last encounter before I ask her to the festival."

"Oh, Caroline told me about that! She really drenched you, didn't she?"

"I do wish I would have been there to see it," Harriet commented.

"Oh, hush, you two."

"Come on, Dorian, she's declined every other one of your offers, you think a few days away from you is going to change her mind?"

"It's worth a shot."

"And if she declines?"

"Then I guess I'm stuck going with you, dear!" he shot her a teasing look.

Harriet attempted to shoot him a glare, but couldn't keep it straight for long before cracking a grin of her own, "Oh, I see how it is. Poor Dorian, let's all feel sorry for him now."

Dorian smirked at Harriet and tossed in the carrots. He went to sit down at the old oak table facing a large window while the girls rummaged through his cabinets, taking out miss-matched bowls of different sizes and worn wooden spoons. The sun was beginning to set. He watched a few of the Mason children chase each other through the schoolyard opposite his house. The girls served themselves and sat down on either side of him.

"I hope you're not expecting us to serve you too," said Harriet, raising an eyebrow as she blew on the hot spoonful.

Dorian smirked at her and got up out of his chair to grab a bowl and serve himself.

"Be careful, it's really hot," said Abigail.

Once seated, he picked up his spoon and blew on it, "Thank you, Abigail."

Harriet snorted, "I suppose someone's got to look after you."

Dorian was about to take a bite when something in the window caught his eye. Her red hair was unmistakable. She was clutching a book, as usual, and looked a bit out of breath. "Well, look, if it isn't Amelia Brighton!" he said, dropping his spoon. He got up and hurried to the door, Harriet sighed.

"Amelia! So nice to see you!" he said, shutting the door behind him.

Amelia stopped in her tracks and turned. "Hello, Dorian."

"So, what brings you to this side of town? I hardly ever see you around these parts."

_Gee, I wonder why?_ She decided not to say anything about the cemetery, she wanted at least one place she could go where he wouldn't look for her. "Just… exploring, you know, since I hardly ever come up here."

"Oh, yes it is a lovely evening too, perfect time to do so."

"Yes, I thought so myself."

"You look a bit frazzled, dear. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes everything is fine," she answered quickly, giving a weak smile and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Dorian looked unconvinced, but let the subject pass. "My friends and I just made stew, you want to come inside?"

"No thanks, Dorian. Really, it smells lovely, but I should be getting home. My father may be worried about me, I haven't been home since this morning."

"Very well, suit yourself. Say, Amelia, I've been meaning to apologize for what happened a few days ago. I had no intention of making a scene out of the whole thing, I hope you know that, but that isn't to say I didn't deserve what I got."

"Thank you, Dorian, I… appreciate the apology," she said, a little taken back.

"Of course, my dear, it was much deserved. I've… been meaning to ask you something. There's a festival happening next week, in case you haven't heard anything about it. We have it every year around the beginning of fall. It's sort of a non-formal, formal event. There are contests and dancing and whatnot, dates being optional. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me."

"Oh. Oh I see what game you're trying to play. You know, for a moment I thought you were being sincere."

"I was!"

"Yeah, right, so you could butter me up and get me to agree to going with you. You really are a piece of work, Dorian. Besides, I'm already going with someone else."

Dorian looked shocked. "Someone's asked you already? What the devil are you talking about?"

"You didn't know? With the rate that gossip travels in this town I'm actually quite surprised."

"I…" he scowled, "who's taking you, then?"

"Bobby Weston."

"Bobby _Weston_?" he laughed, "You can't be serious."

"No, I'm quite serious, he asked me last night."

He seemed to be torn between a look of amusement and disbelief. "And you accepted?"

"Of course I did, I had no other obligations that evening."

He threw his hands up, "Excellent. Well, I certainly won't believe it until I see it, that's for sure. _Bumbling idiot_…" he muttered.

"Oh come on, Dorian, you actually think I would have agreed to go with you instead?"

"Better me than Bobby Weston," he snorted.

"Well, you've certainly done a poor job of proving that."

"You've yet to give me a chance, my dear."

"I gave you a chance."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. Honestly, I'm surprised you've had so many women to begin with. Do you treat them all like this? Follow them mercilessly until they give in?"

"Actually, no. You're the first to show such resistance!"

She gave him an unamused look. This man was really unbelievable. "Oh, I see. So I'm just some sort of game to you? Some test to prove that the ever charming Dorian Maslow can have any girl he chooses?"

"You're welcome to assume what you like, but keep in mind the only way of ever really knowing is to give me a chance and see for yourself."

Amelia folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

"You know how rumors fly in this town by now, how inaccurate they can be. I'm certain you've heard a great deal about me."

"Nothing you haven't reinforced with your behavior."

He chuckled, "And they could, of course, be true. Then again, how are you to know for sure if you never let me take you on a proper date?"

Amelia thought for a moment. Dorian ran a hand through his hair, his gaze unwavering as a cool evening breeze whipped at the two of them. She glanced over at the house behind him, the worn, lavender shutters framing a large window that glowed with the warm light of a fire. A brown-haired girl peered out of the lower corner looking as though she was trying to be sneaky. Abigail. Amelia wanted to laugh, but returned to the conversation. "I'm not going with you to the festival, Dorian. I already promised Bobby I'd go with him."

"Very well, if that is what you choose. Though you of course know my opinion, who am I to deprive Bobby of an evening in the company of such a beautiful woman? It is a rare thing to find one who is both beautiful and strange enough to accept his proposal."

Amelia let out a dry chuckle, "Funny, I didn't think you'd lay off so easily," she said, giving him a suspicious look.

"You know, I'm not all bad, Amelia." He flashed her a playful grin.

"You very well may not be, but of course, I only have my experiences to go by. Talk is cheap, after all."

Dorian chuckled, amused by her comment. "Isn't it ever?"

* * *

**A/N:** **Mmm, I love the smell of foreshadowing in the morning. And Bobby Weston's turning out to be quite the cockblock. I do apologize for the wait, now that I'm out of school for the summer I'll be able to update a lot more frequently, and I very much intend to finish this fic. Thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to leave a comment or review! I'd love to know what you think. :3**


	8. The Festival

_Chapter Eight_

_The Festival_

For Amelia, week that passed had been the most peaceful she'd had since she'd arrived. It would seem that something she said that evening she came back from the cemetery caused Dorian to actually listen to her and think about how his actions translated. Not once in the past week had he called her out in the streets, or followed her home, or disrupted her reading to flirt with her. It was a strange sensation to be able to walk down the streets without worrying about bumping into him. It took her a while to get used to. She even walked past his house a few times when he was home without a word from him. When she did see him, because it was impossible not to in such a small town, he would wave at her, smile at her, wish her good morning, or whatever time of day it happened to be, and carry on with his own business. Ever since that evening, he'd been different. He didn't even insist on walking her home, or stress again that she join him for dinner. He just let her go, as she preferred it. She wanted to believe his actions were sincere, that he had taken her words into account for more reasons other than to simply manipulate her, but she would be a fool to be any less than skeptical. In fact, as she got ready for the festival that evening, she couldn't help but wonder whether he had some trick up his sleeve. She hated to admit it, but for the first time in her life she was actually nervous to see him.

_Oh, snap out of it_, she told herself as she tucked a white flower into her half-up braided hairstyle. What could he possibly be planning? To catch her by surprise and whisk her away on the dance floor, leaving her helpless but to fall in love with him? She snorted, the idea was preposterous. She'd be offended if he thought she was that easy to manipulate.

Amelia stood back from the mirror and assessed herself a final time before leaving her room. Mr. Brighton must have heard her coming down the stairs, he was waiting for her at the bottom, dressed more formally than usual. "Amelia, you look magnificent!" he said, his eyes glimmering.

The dress Belinda had lent her was so different from her usual plain attire. She was right about the color, the blue-green really complimented her red hair, which curled slightly toward the ends. The neckline was embroidered with a light, pearly sort of gold, matching the ribbon that wrapped around the empire waist of the dress. Amelia would have never thought these two unusual colors would look good together, but it worked.

"My, haven't I been blessed with the most beautiful daughter," he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear affectionately.

She chuckled, "Thanks, dad. You're not looking too shabby yourself!"

"You think so? Well, I guess I'll have to take your word for it," he said, giving her a wink. Mr. Brighton had on a nice shirt and grey striped vest, quite a change from his usual rubber apron and safety goggles.

"You know, you should really wear colors like this more often!" he said, standing back to get another look at her. The smooth blue-green material made a V in the front under the bust to reveal an off-white layer underneath, creating a sort of princess look. Amelia chuckled and spun around, causing the material to whirl outward.

Mr. Brighton watched her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled. He could have worn she was a child just yesterday. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Oh! That must be Bobby, it's nearly five." Amelia hurried over to the door and opened it. "Bobby! Please, do come in."

Bobby had an almost surprised look on his face when he saw her, "H-hi, Amelia! Wow, you look so different, for a split second I didn't even recognize you!" he said, entering the house. "Not that you don't always look lovely, I mean…" He scratched his head, trying to find the right words.

Amelia laughed, "It's alright, I know what you mean."

He gave a slight chuckle, "Good." His sandy blonde hair was parted to the side, and he wore a celery green vest with silver buttons.

"Ah, hello Bobby!" said Mr. Brighton, shaking his hand. "You look awfully familiar, have we met before?"

"Yes, I believe I had to stop in once to pick up a mild pain medicine for my brother."

"Yes! That's it, I do remember that. I take it he's feeling better?"

"Oh yeah, just a headache is all."

Suddenly Amelia looked as though she'd remembered something. "Oh! Did you take the pie out of the oven, dad? I completely forgot about it."

"Oh, yes I did. It hasn't burned, don't worry, it's sitting on the counter."

"Oh, good."

"Planning on entering it in the contest?" asked Bobby.

"There's a contest?"

"Yes, a pie baking contest."

Amelia glanced over at her simple apple pie and chuckled, "Well, I doubt it will win anything, but I don't see why not."

"Funny business we've had with this oven, it seems that everything we bake in it tends to come out a bit lop-sided."

"Yes, I've noticed that too. I think the floorboard might be warped or something. I do hope they're not judging on presentation," she said, laughing.

"Oh, don't worry about it, I'm sure it tastes great," said Bobby.

"Don't worry about taking it over now, I'll take it when I head over a little later," said Mr. Brighton.

"Alright, thanks, Dad," she turned to Bobby, "We should probably get going now."

The three of them said their goodbyes. Of course, the sun was only starting to set in the sky. There would be time to meet up later, the evening was just getting started.

* * *

Harriet gave a weary sigh. Caroline Masters was typically quite tolerable, but times like these made her want to give her a nice smack upside the head.

"Dorian, I must say, that color really brings out the blue in your eyes. I had to help Malcolm pick out what he should wear tonight, but you seem to have a sense for what looks good on you. It's a great quality to have for a guy," she said, fiddling with his collar.

"Why thank you, Caroline, you look quite lovely yourself."

"Oh, you think so? Well thank you, I was a little concerned about the way it fit me, I've never tried this style before."

Harriet rolled her eyes, it was apparent she was just fishing for compliments. Her strapless sky blue dress was a bit more tightly-fitted than what Harriet felt was tasteful, but it didn't look bad.

"Oh, well you have no reason to concern yourself, dear. It looks lovely on you."

"Well, I'm glad you think so," she said, coyly tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear.

Harriet didn't make any attempt to hide her annoyance, but Caroline was far too distracted to notice.

"Lately Malcolm has taken to playing rugby with the other boys in town. Dorian, you really should consider playing with them sometime. I'm sure it's as fun to play as it is to watch."

"Well, forgive me if I sound lazy, but I prefer to spend my time doing things that don't require bathing immediately after doing them."

"What, are you afraid it will mess up your hair or something?" she ran her fingers through it, eying him flirtatiously.

"Where's Malcolm?" asked Harriet, trying to distract her.

"Oh, he and Fred are boozing it up at the tavern before they head over. Can you believe them? It's barely past five! Damn alcoholics, I swear."

"So he plans to meet you here?"

"Yeah, that's the plan at least, if he can make it over without falling on his drunk arse."

"You should probably go check up on him."

Caroline sighed, giving Dorian the one-over again. "You're probably right," she said with a regretful look in her eye. "Well, I'm going to go look for him then."

"It's for the best."

"I'll see you around," she said, winking at Dorian before she left.

Harriet scowled disgustedly. "Ugh, I swear that girl is always in heat."

Dorian chuckled, "She is quite a flirt, isn't she?"

"Oh please, Dorian, flirt is an understatement."

"On the other hand, she is moderately attractive. I suppose if I got desperate…"

Harriet let out something between a gag and a laugh, "Oh goodness, don't make me lose my lunch."

"And here I thought she was your friend!"

"She is when she's civil."

They stood under a large tent outside that was just behind the gathering hall where they held their dances. Brightly colored lanterns were strung across the tent, as they were every year. Even from outside she could hear Mr. Gallagher on his fiddle, leading the string band in a lively tune.

Harriet wore a pale pink empire waist with a chiffon outer layer and delicate silk flowers adorning the waistline. She always had a knack for style. Even in her day to day cotton dresses, she always managed to pick out something both functional and fashionable without overdoing it. Her blonde hair was tucked up into a loose, twisted bun.

"Abigail seems to be having fun playing croquet with Seamus," Dorian commented. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth, she looked bored out of her mind.

"Oh yeah, she seems to be having a blast."

The two of them stood quietly a moment and watched people gather here and there at the tables. Harriet could remember the days when he used to chase her under those tables, days when she didn't care about how her hair looked or getting grass stains on her dress. He was always causing trouble, always bringing her along.

"I wonder how many of these I've been to in my life," pondered Harriet out loud.

"That depends, how old are you again?"

Harriet smacked him upside the head, "As old as you are!" she knew he was kidding.

He chuckled, "Right. Sometimes I forget because you act so childishly."

"Oh, is that right?" she raised a playful eyebrow.

Suddenly something else seemed to grab his attention.

Amelia Brighton looked both charmed and distracted as she took in the sights and sounds of the very first country festival she'd ever experienced. The worn wooden tables and bright colored lanterns that Harriet had become so accustomed to seemed to delight and enchant her as her blonde, awkward tour guide showed her about. Bobby looked just about as thrilled to bump into Dorian as Harriet felt about seeing Amelia. The way Dorian acted around her was downright embarrassing.

"Well, funny seeing you two here!" Dorian said cheerfully.

Bobby gave an irritated look. "Yes, funny coincidence at a festival we knew we were all attending."

Dorian, looking thoroughly amused, made a mental note not to use sarcasm around those too dull to pick up on it. A rather guarded look from Amelia quickly reminded him he'd best keep his more cutting comments to himself if he ever wished to speak to her again. "I was being sarcastic."

"Yeah, I know."

_You did? Well, you certainly had me fooled._ "Of course. So, are you enjoying your time so far, Amelia?"

"Oh yes, I've never been to a festival like this before, it's very charming."

"Good, I'm glad. They always do a splendid decorating job. I've had the privilege to attend many of these throughout my life."

"As have I," said Bobby, "You see, I was just in the middle of giving her a tour. We should probably get back to that now, if you'll excuse us."

Dorian raised his eyebrows, did he really think he was going to blow him off that easily? "Well excuse me for trying to make pleasant conversation. I know that isn't exactly your strong point Bobby, but apparently politeness isn't either."

"Oh, like you'd know anything about politeness."

"I do know a thing or two about self-restraint, which you also seem to have issues with."

Bobby laughed, "Oh do you? Tell me Dorian, when have you ever used it?"

Dorian looked at him flatly. "Now would be a perfect example."

"Well, if I didn't have any self-restraint I would have hit you five minutes ago." Bobby was really getting heated now.

"Come on Bobby, let's go," said Amelia, taking him by the arm, "I'm sorry Dorian, but I really think it's best you two keep your distance this evening," she said, giving him an apologetic look.

Dorian looked irritated as ever as she ushered Bobby back inside and out of sight.

Harriet gave him a comforting pat on the back. "You know, I was actually surprised at how well you handled yourself. Not a single cutting comment! Well, at least until the end, then maybe a bit…"

Dorian laughed, "Oh, you have no idea."

"Well, I suppose it could have gone worse, right? I mean, he could have tried to punch you again."

Dorian chuckled and shook his head. "Yes, I suppose. I feel sorry for Amelia, she has to put up with that sorry sod all evening."

"I know I certainly wouldn't want to be his date. He has that sort of piggy look to him that I find so incredibly unattractive."

Dorian gave a small chuckle, still apparently agitated about the situation.

"Come on, let's go watch Abigail lose the croquet match."

* * *

Amelia shifted rather uncomfortably in her seat as she felt the stares of the older bunch of women across from her. Why they chose the table she and Bobby decided on was beyond her, but they seemed uncomfortably intrigued by her presence.

"So you and Bobby are dating now! How sweet is that," chimed one of the women.

"Oh, no! We're not dating, he's just my date for the festival, that's all."

"Oh, I see, just for the festival. I dare say, where has that boy gone off to?"

"He went to get some punch, he should be back soon."

"An awfully long time to get punch, wouldn't you say?" Her comment was met with stirs and chuckles from the other women.

Amelia said nothing and tried to mull it over with a smile. The thing she was most looking forward to was the dancing, but every time she brought it up Bobby came up with an idea of something else to do instead. She was starting to get the feeling he was trying to put it off. He'd been doing this sort of thing all evening.

Amelia set her teacup down on its platter and gazed listlessly toward the group dancing on the other side of the great hall. Men and women of all ages stepped in unison in two lines to the lively tune of a fiddle, a choreographed dance which she was unfamiliar with.

"So you grew up in Bowerstone, is that right?" asked the older woman in the yellow sunhat across from her.

Amelia snapped back to attention. "What? Oh, yes, I am from Bowerstone."

"Now, Agatha-"

"Amelia"

"Amelia, yes. You must tell me dear, I've never been to the city myself of course, but I hear it smells funny there, more crowded, less fresh air, you know. Tell me, is it true?"

The other older women surrounding her chuckled amongst themselves, whispering things. "No, actually, I never personally thought Bowerstone had a particular odor, of course I would not be surprised if someone who had lived in the country their whole lives could notice a difference." Amelia glanced over at the dancers again, then over toward the punch table. What was taking him so long? "Sorry, if you'll excuse me, I believe my date might be lost." She quickly got up from her seat, leaving the rest to murmur amongst themselves.

She spotted him over by the punch table, "Need a hand?"

Bobby nearly dropped the glasses he was carrying. "Oh, Amelia, hi! Sorry about that, I bumped into a rather chatty friend of mine."

"Oh, that's alright. Hey, I was wondering if maybe we could dance for a little bit now that we've had something to eat. Would that be alright?"

Bobby set the glasses down, scratching his head a moment. "I don't know, I mean, I hate to be a disappointment, but…" he scanned the room, she couldn't tell if he was looking for the right words or looking for someone in particular.

"Oh, come on. If you're worried about Dorian he's not even dancing right now, he and Harriet are probably outside anyway."

Bobby hesitated, glancing over at the dance floor. "Look, I'm sorry, I hate to be a disappointment to you, but truthfully I'm just not a very good dancer."

"Oh, no it's ok, I can always go by myself if that would make you feel better," she said, hoping she didn't sound like she was blowing him off, she really just wanted to dance.

"No, you really should have a partner for this sort of thing. It's really not fair for me to keep you from having fun, I'll dance with you for a bit."

"Alright, excellent! Come on!" she took his hand and rushed over to the dance floor

* * *

Bobby's dancing was hardly the most graceful she'd ever experienced, but she had to give him credit for trying. After one dance, Amelia thought it would be best for both of them to just let him off the hook.

"Listen, I think I'm going to stick around a few more numbers, you're more than welcome to find something else to do in the meantime."

Bobby scratched his head, "Well, if it's alright with you. I think I'm going to head outside for a bit."

"Alright, I'll come find you. Thanks again, Bobby. And really, you're not a terrible dancer, you just need to relax a bit, that's all!" she smiled, hoping he didn't feel too terrible.

"Alright, well I'll keep that in mind just in case I ever meet some other girl who really likes to dance. I'll see you later, Amelia."

Amelia stood off to the side to watch the dancers as they chatted amongst themselves, waiting for the next number to start. She folded her arms and looked around, feeling a bit awkward just standing by herself. There had to be at least a few numbers that didn't require partners.

Amelia glanced out into the large hall to the section where the tables were. Her father appeared to be having a very animated conversation with Belinda at a table toward the center. She considered going over and visiting when she heard the music start again. It was another couple dance, except this time there were no lines. The dance didn't look too difficult, it was somewhat of a waltz with a few variations. It required a partner though, something she did not have. Perhaps dancing was not meant to happen this evening after all. She turned to leave when suddenly she heard a voice behind her.

"I dare say, where is your date? Has he abandoned you?"

Amelia turned around, she'd know that sing-song voice anywhere. "Oh look, if it isn't my knight in shining armor, coming to rescue me from my loneliness."

Dorian chuckled, "Well, if you wanted it to be like_ that_ I'm sure we could make arrangements."

She smiled and shook her head, "He didn't abandon me. We were dancing earlier, but it really isn't much his thing. He was kind enough to humor me, so I let him off the hook."

"See? I told you he was no good."

She smirked, rolling her eyes. "Oh come on, give the guy a break. Some people just don't like dancing," he didn't look convinced. "Where's Harriet, anyway?"

"She's chatting with Abigail and the other girls, there's really only so much I can take of listening to it. They could be at it for hours, who really knows."

"Gossip not really your thing?"

"Heavens no."

"Nor mine. Earlier I had the misfortune of being stuck at a table with a rather chatty bunch of old women," she discreetly motioned toward the woman in the large yellow sunhat.

Dorian tossed his head back and laughed, "Mrs. Cheverly? That old bat's off her rocker anyway, never mind her."

Amelia chuckled, "It really wasn't Bobby's fault, they just sort of sat down."

"Yes, well, it doesn't look as though he'll be back to claim you any time soon. If you still care to dance it will be much easier to learn if I just teach you, and you'd look rather silly without a partner." He motioned for her to follow him, she looked hesitant.

"Amelia, I really mean no harm." His expression was soft, he extended his hand. "Come on, you'll like this one."

After a moment's deliberation, Amelia decided it was best to put her pride aside for this one. Besides, she'd been waiting all evening to dance, at least with someone who actually enjoyed dancing. She took his hand and followed him to the corner of the dance floor.

"Just follow my lead," he said, placing a firm but gentle hand on her waist. She placed a hand on his shoulder, still keeping her distance. He chucked, "Amelia, I'm not going to bite you, here," he brought her closer.

Amelia raised an eyebrow cautiously, which he paid little attention to, and he began to lead, rocking back and forth in a sort of waltz step. "See? Nothing too bad. Now this next part is a bit more complicated, just follow me, two more counts." Amelia mirrored him as he let go of her waist, stepping outward. Still holding hands, he gave a slight tug and pulled them back together. After a few more measures she seemed to get the hang of it. He felt her hand relax against the silky material of his brown, paisley vest. Back and forth, they moved to the steady tune of the fiddler-led string band.

"I must say, Amelia, you do look lovely in that dress."

She raised an eyebrow playfully, "Going in for the kill I see?"

Dorian smirked, "Simply pointing out the obvious."

Amelia smiled, turning her gaze downward before looking him in the eyes, "Well, thank you."

There was a long moment when neither of them said anything. She could feel him studying her silently like he had on the day they'd met, his eyes hardly ever leaving her. It was a funny thing, sometimes she couldn't tell if his forwardness was something she despised or admired.

"Alright, now comes the fun part." The music picked up, and with a wild glimmer in his eyes he whirled her around, bringing them back together to sashay in a wide circle. Amelia laughed, caught by surprise as they flew across the floor. He spun her around again, catching her waist as he brought her back in, only to whisk her away in the other direction. For the first time that evening, he felt her truly relax. Back and forth, he led her in wide circles across the floor, catching her by surprise every so often with a twirl when she didn't expect it.

Amelia glanced up at him, their eyes meeting as he brought her back in from a spin. Despite how much she loathed the man, there was something undeniably exhilarating about him. Something captivating about the fire in his eyes, the impulsiveness of his behavior. She wasn't sure if she could trust him, but for now she didn't care.

By the end of the song, it was clear they'd danced a bit more enthusiastically than other couples. "Alright, I think… we might have to sit…this next one out," said Dorian said in between breaths. His hair was looking a bit more disheveled than usual. He ran his fingers through it casually and looked down at her as he caught his breath. She smiled. It was an honest, radiant smile without a trace of sarcasm or suspicion, the first he'd ever seen from her.

"Yeah," she said, breathing heavily, "I think so too."

The two exited the dance floor and made their way over to the drink table to get a much needed glass of water. Amelia leaned up against the table as she drank.

"Quite a dancer, isn't he?" Harriet sported a rather amused expression as she came toward them. Their disheveled appearance probably gave it away, but Amelia wondered if she had been watching.

"Harriet! What a surprise, I thought you'd at least be gossiping for another hour or so. You've finished early I see," he said, teasing her.

"Yes, unfortunately we had to cut it short to go watch apple bobbing," she said, "It was absolutely hilarious to watch, Fred and Malcolm were _completely_ hammered."

Dorian laughed, "I'm surprised they didn't drown!"

"I am too, really. It's a good thing there were other people around, or they might have."

The three of them chuckled, and there then was a moment when no one said anything. Harriet studied the two of them. It was funny seeing her actually tolerating him. No, it was more than tolerating. Amelia casually sipped her water as Dorian flashed her one of his signature smiles which she coyly returned.

"Caroline wants to talk to you," said Harriet, breaking the silence.

"Does she? I can't possibly imagine what she might want," he said jokingly.

Amelia got a feeling Harriet didn't want her to follow. "Well, thanks, Dorian. It was nice to at least get one good dance out of this evening." She really meant it too.

"Always a pleasure," he said, and gave her a warm smile before following Harriet outside.

* * *

**A/N:This chapter took some extra brainstorming because it was a bit special, I'm satisfied with the way it turned out though. I'm pretty sure it's my longest chapter yet. I hope you all are enjoying the story so far, please leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	9. An Impulse

_Chapter Nine:_

_An Impulse_

The hot Autumn sun beat down on the back of his neck as Dorian made his way to the local tavern around four o'clock. Fishing that day had been tougher than usual, it took a quite few nets to get as many fish as he needed. Combined with the sun, he felt a drink was well deserved.

He sat down at the bar and slapped a silver piece down on the table.

"Dorian! Been a while since I've seen you in here. The usual?"

"That should do just fine."

Mr. Bateman filled a pint and slid it down the table. He was a tan, scruffy looking man with a good heart and a warm laugh. He and his wife had owned the tavern for the past fifteen years. The place was pretty dead this time of day, and wouldn't pick up for at least another hour. There were two older gentleman smoking at a table in the corner, but other than that, Dorian was alone.

He took a sip and sat there a moment in silence, allowing himself to relax.

"Rough day?"

Dorian chuckled, "I don't know if I could classify my job as a rough one, even if there were fewer fish than usual. It's just so damn hot outside, it's exhausting just sitting out there!"

"Ha, I know what you mean. I've opened all the doors and windows in here but it's still hot as hell. The shade helps a little, I think."

Dorian gave a nod, "The ale does too."

Mr. Bateman laughed at this, "Doesn't it always?"

The two of them chatted for a while. It had been a few weeks since he'd spent time at the bar. Harriet wasn't much of a drinker and even less enthusiastic about the tavern atmosphere.

Suddenly Dorian heard footsteps behind him.

"Dorian! I certainly wasn't expecting to see you in here at this hour. Did the sun drive you in too?"

"I'm afraid so."

Caroline sat down in between him and her best friend, Allison Gallagher, a strawberry blonde with a lanky frame and a round face. Their hair was wet, it would appear that they had just been swimming.

"We were going to spend a little more time at the beach, but the sun was just blistering. We weren't even out there a half hour when Allison started to burn."

Allison looked down at her arms and frowned, "I do hope this doesn't turn into freckles, you two are lucky you can tan."

The two of them ordered drinks. Mr. Bateman then left for a moment to do some work upstairs.

Caroline folded her arms on the bar table and eyed him flirtatiously. "So, Dorian, I remember you telling me you weren't interested in rugby. Are there any sports you do prefer?"

He chuckled, "Anything that doesn't involve wrestling and getting covered in dirt, I suppose."

"Oh, you're into the more mental sports, aren't you? Yes, that seems more like you. Do you ever play chess?"

"Occasionally, although I can hardly claim I'm an expert."

"Oh, I'm sure you're just being modest."

Dorian smiled, "You're perfectly welcome to assume what you wish, my dear."

"Well, there's no doubt you're better than I am," chimed Allison, "I've only played once and I did terribly."

"Yes, I myself have never even played. I'd love to learn sometime though, if you're willing to teach me."

"I most certainly am, just let me know when you'd like to learn."

"I will, thank you." Caroline casually sipped her drink, a rather satisfied look on her face.

The three of them sat there a moment, casually sipping their drinks until Allison broke the silence. "You know, I wonder what the rest of our friends have been up to today."

"Probably hiding from the sun. You know, we should round up the gang and have ourselves a little party here, don't you think?"

"Brilliant! It's been far too long anyway."

Caroline turned to Dorian, "What do you think? You think you'd be up for something like that?"

He laughed, "Is that a serious question? Come now, you know me well enough by now."

Caroline raised an eyebrow playfully, "So I take that as a yes?"

"Indeed."

She smiled, satisfied. "Good."

Allison suddenly looked as though she remembered something. "Actually, come to think of it, my brother taught me this fun new drinking game yesterday that involves cards."

"Fred taught you another one?

"Yeah, it's called ninety-nine, it's really easy. We can make a stop at my house to pick up some cards while we round everyone up."

"Excellent! Well, we'll be back in a bit, Dorian, unless you want to come with us, that is."

Dorian looked out the window, the sun was still blazing as ever. "I think I'll stay inside."

"Ha, I don't blame you. Well, see you in a bit then."

The two of them hopped off their chairs and stepped out the door into the blistering heat, leaving their drinks at the bar. He shook his head and chuckled softly, his evening just got a lot more interesting.

* * *

Amelia leaned over the kitchen counter as she finished off the last of the lopsided apple pie left over from the festival. It was a nice little break from sorting the new shipment of herbs they'd received at the Apothecary that afternoon. The pie didn't win any awards, but it was still pretty good. After her rather exhausting dance with Dorian, the rest of the evening had been rather uneventful. What she did conclude was that she was not about to go as Bobby's date for any other occasion.

Amelia glanced down at the pie tin, there was still an entire piece left. She picked it up and walked over to her father who seemed to be enjoying a cup of coffee. "Want the rest of it?"

He smiled, "Not right now, dear, but I will later certainly, thank you."

"Alright, I'll wrap it up and set it on the counter then."

When she returned, he had resumed organizing jars. She sat beside him on a high stool and got to work as well.

"You know, Belinda and I saw you dancing last night. You seemed to be having a great time with that Dorian fellow," he said, smiling.

Amelia blushed a little, "You were? Oh goodness, I hope I wasn't too terrible a dancer."

"You were just fine! I could hardly even tell you were just learning," he said, giving her a wink. He then paused a moment, looking as though he were searching for the right words. "You know, it's been quite a while since you've dated anyone seriously."

"Dad," she chucked, it was so strange hearing him talk about this sort of thing, her love life was something they rarely discussed. He was right though, it had been quite a while since she'd had a serious relationship. Of course, the situation with Desmond wasn't exactly something she wanted to repeat. In her young, naïve state of mind, she'd been tricked and used. Ever since Desmond she'd been a bit picky about who she dated, especially who she let get close to her.

"I mean, what do you think of Dorian? You two seemed to get along quite well."

Amelia thought for a moment. "To be honest, I'm not really sure how I feel about him. I mean, he's certainly fun, but he's a bit of a town flirt if you know what I mean."

"Ah, yes, I suppose I know what you mean. He seems like a nice fellow, he helped us move in, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, he did."

"Well, I just wanted to ask I suppose, just wondering what's going on. I hope you understand that I have no intention of pressuring you, dear. You'll find the right person when it's time, you can't expect to rush these things," he said in his usual, cheerful voice.

"I know, Dad. Thanks, though."

The two of them went back to work. Whether Amelia liked it or not, her father's questions had forced a few things to the front of her mind that she'd buried pretty well. She was almost twenty-three, around the age that girls typically got married. It gave her a headache just thinking about it. Then again, Amelia wasn't exactly planning for a typical life. Though she was growing quite fond of Oakvale, the thought of being tied down with nothing more to look forward to than raising a family was not at all appealing to her. She wanted to see the world and have stories to tell like the ones Belinda told. She wanted to live an adventure of her own instead of just reading about them. That was the life she planned for. No matter how improbable a life it seemed at this point, it would always be her plan. What she needed was a man who desired adventure like she did.

It was late afternoon when she'd finished chores. She ate an early dinner and left for the cemetery at around five o'clock. She needed to think for a bit.

* * *

Dorian sunk into the large sofa as warm colors swirled before him in the dim light. He zoned out, comfortably drunk as his body pulsed with the warmth of the ale coursing through his veins. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, perfectly content with the state he was in. An abrupt burst of laughter issued from those around him, which he easily ignored. Suddenly he felt a new sort of warmth on the left side of his body. The couch cushion shifted in response to the movement. He cracked open his eyes and glanced down. Caroline had been attached to him all evening, he was not surprised. She glanced up at him and gave a warm, sleepy smile. He returned it.

She wrapped her arms around him, "Quite an evening, wouldn't you agree?"

He closed his eyes contently "I certainly agree, it's been far too long since I've had this much excitement in one evening."

She propped her chin on his shoulder, "I'm glad you came," she said softly.

He shifted his arm, which was beginning to fall asleep under her weight, and rested it across the top of the couch. "So am I."

He felt her smile against his skin as she nuzzled his neck, she tucked her head beneath his chin. They sat there a moment until a loud thud shook them from their reverie.

Dorian opened his eyes to find James lying on the floor, his body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. The group responded uproariously.

They looked at each other and shook their heads. She then gave a devious look and shifted herself onto his lap, straddling him.

Dorian raised an eyebrow and tipped his head back to look up at her.

"So, tell me about chess."

He laughed, "You want me to talk about _chess_? By the way things look, it would seem that you'd much rather hear other things from me," he gave a wry smile.

Caroline gave a knowing grin and lowered her voice, "You're right, I would, but I'm afraid we're not alone."

Dorian feigned surprise, "We're not? My, I hadn't even noticed!"

She gave a soft chuckle, running a hand through his tousled hair, "Have I been distracting you?"

Before he could respond, he saw her look sharply in the direction of the door behind them. Suddenly her expression turned to one of disapproval, someone had entered that she hadn't invited. Dorian heard footsteps getting louder.

"Hey, you think you can just take other people's girlfriends whenever you feel like it?"

The comment was directed at him, but Dorian didn't need to turn his head to tell who it was.

Caroline scowled, "Malcolm, I'm not your girlfriend, we're hardly even dating!"

"I don't care! You don't just start seeing someone and then spend the evening on some other guy's lap. It's really pretty tacky if you ask me."

"Well, nobody asked you. If you want me so badly, why don't you do something about it?"

He looked at Dorian, he wasn't the type to start fights but he sure did feel like giving him a hard smack upside the head. Both of them, actually.

"Oh come on, just look at you! You're a complete mess, I'm taking you home."

"Who are you, my father? I'll decide how I spend my evenings, thank you."

Dorian said nothing, he preferred not to be involved, but he already was.

"Actually, I've got a better idea; why don't you two play a game of darts? Winner can have me for the evening."

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Ha! I think that sounds like an excellent idea," said Dorian. He was always up for a challenge and if pressured, so was Malcolm.

"Oh come on, this is ridiculous." He figured he really should take Caroline back to her house though, she was obviously hammered and could use some supervision.

Dorian shifted and turned around to look Malcolm in the eyes. "What? It'll almost be fair, my drunk aim versus your sober one!"

The group laughed, Caroline almost fell off the couch. "Of course I might have to down another pint before it's truly fair."

Malcolm scowled, "Oh, fine! Three rounds."

It was dark when Amelia finally came home from the cemetery. The sunset had been especially beautiful there. From the distance she could discern two figures coming toward her, stumbling up the hill toward Dorian's house. They were laughing quite a bit and were having difficulty keeping balance. She could tell it was Dorian by his laugh, but in the dark she was having a bit more difficulty figuring out who the girl was. Her hair looked darker, she knew it couldn't have been Harriet. Amelia veered slightly off the dirt path and stood behind a tree. She would wait until they were inside to pass his house, having no desire to bump into them. It was apparent they had been drinking. She watched them quietly as Dorian led his companion to the front door of his house.

"You know what sounds fun right now? A nice game of _chess_." Dorian snorted, stumbling into Caroline as they walked.

"You plan to teach me? I do hope you plan on showing me some tricks too," she said with a devious smile, holding onto him for balance.

Dorian chuckled, "Oh yes, many tricks. I am an expert after all."

Dorian fell back against the door with a thud as she kissed him. His arms came around her, holding her steady as she moved to kiss his neck.

He tipped his head back and gave a soft groan. While Caroline wasn't exactly his first choice, it had been a while since he'd had any contact like this, and he welcomed it graciously.

He chuckled deviously, "My goodness, is this your first time playing?"

"It was when we were actually talking about chess." She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

"Well then, let's at least get inside!"

Dorian fumbled for the key and unlocked the door. He practically fell into the door as he opened it. She took his arm and followed him inside.


	10. Repercussions

_Chapter Ten:_

_Repercussions_

Dorian awoke with a throbbing pain in his head and squinted his eyes from the all-too-blaring afternoon sun steaming in through his windows. He tugged the covers over his head as if to shield himself not only from the sun, but from the evidence that lay about his room that ensured the previous night was indeed as much of a disaster as he remembered. He took a deep breath, relishing in the warm comfort of his bed, the quietness of his room, lamely hoping the whole thing had been a dream. Caroline had seemed alright when he brought her inside, she was drunk as ever, but so was he. They had hardly made it up the steps when Caroline started looking terribly ill. In the end, the only undressing they had done had been to remove their sick-covered clothing that now lay in a pile in the far corner of Dorian's bedroom.

Dorian pulled down the covers just far enough to glare at it. He was most certainly not looking forward to washing clothes today, especially not _those_. He wondered for a moment whether he could afford to burn all of it, but he figured Caroline would probably want her dress back.

_Perhaps I could put it in a burlap sack and set it on her doorstep, _he mused. The notion of course, was terribly rude. He couldn't help but chuckle. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He was considering just staying in bed for another hour when it donned on him that he actually did have an obligation today. He sat up in his bed quickly and grabbed the old pocket watch on his nightstand. It was just about noon, the shooting match didn't start until two o'clock. Dorian grumbled and placed the old silver watch back on his nightstand. It would give him enough time to bathe at least, which he certainly needed to, and it would also give him time to give that nasty pile of clothes a good washing as well.

He lowered his feet off the side of the bed and stretched. He had already decided against fetching water to heat up and put in his tub. It was far too hot and took far too much time. He would just take a quick bath in the stream before he washed his clothes. He stood up and made his way downstairs to grab the things he needed. Unfortunately, there wasn't much time to waste.

* * *

Dorian's hair hadn't even enough time to dry completely when he knocked on Caroline's door. Thankfully it was she who answered, looking rather surprised to see him. "Oh, hello, Dorian." There was a moment of awkwardness as he handed her the dress, it was also slightly damp.

"Thanks. You really didn't have to, I mean, after all you've done already."

Dorian gave a laugh, he certainly wished it. "No, I really did."

Caroline scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, "I can't tell you how sorry I am for putting you through that last night."

Dorian shrugged, he could tell she really meant it. She must have felt like a total idiot. "It's alright. You're feeling much better, I take it?"

Caroline nodded, "I am, thank you."

Dorian smiled, "Good. Planning on coming to the shooting match this afternoon?"

"I am."

"I'll see you there then."

She smirked, still obviously embarrassed by the situation, but trying to make the best of it. "Planning on breaking any records?"

"As always, my dear. Although I can never make any promises," he winked.

She relaxed a bit at this, chuckling, "Of course not," she fiddled with the door handle idly, "Well, I'll see you in a bit then."

He nodded, "You certainly will."

They said their goodbyes and Caroline quietly shut the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the old, silver pocket watch. It was dented, and scratched, and yet still probably the most valuable thing he owned (not counting his house, of course). He glanced at it impressively; he still had about forty-five minutes until the match started. What was he to do with his spare time? He stared out over the hillside, watching the wind as it rippled through the fields. His eyes narrowed in on a small, grey roofed home near the bottom. It suddenly occurred to him that Amelia probably had no idea that there was a shooting match today. He thought it only right to invite her.

A grey and white tabby cat wound its way around Amelia's front stoop, rubbing its face against the doorframe. Its blue eyes peered up at him with curiosity as he approached. Dorian stopped, smirking at the cat. It continued to weave back and forth across the stoop, seldom taking its eyes off of him. He knelt down and pet the cat, scratching it behind the ears, "I take it you want inside?" The cat squinted its eyes in response.

Dorian stood and knocked on the door. He was greeted by yet another pair of blue eyes. "Ah, hello Ameli-" The door slammed shut with an angry crack, causing the cat to skitter off the stoop and out of sight.

Dorian stood frozen, his face twisted in shock. What could she possibly be angry about? The last time he'd seen her she'd seemed as though she was starting to enjoy his company. He wondered for a moment whether it had something to do with what happened last night, but how could she have possibly known? He figured it was best to just play stupid until she brought it up herself, lest he inform her about it unnecessarily.

Dorian took a deep breath, resolute, and opened the door himself. Her home did double as a shop after all. He had to get to the bottom of this.

Amelia turned as she heard the door open. She stood behind the counter of the apothecary, folding her arms and frowning deeply. "What do you want?"

Her sudden anger left him speechless for a second, "I… just wanted to invite you to the shooting match this afternoon, but you clearly seem angry."

She threw her hands up into the air, giving a sarcastic laugh. "Of course you would. You know, Dorian, you really are a piece of work."

Dorian frowned, looking both concerned and apprehensive. "Have I done something?"

Amelia seemed to be struggling with her words out of sheer frustration. "I saw you last night, with that girl," she said cuttingly.

Dorian looked regretful, casting his gaze downward. He didn't know what to say. There was a moment of silence, she wasn't pleased with that either.

She shook her head, brimming with anger. "And then, you just waltz in here the following day and decide to pick me up for a _date_? Goodness, Dorian, had I any inclination you would ever sink so _low_-"

"I wasn't asking you out on a date! We wouldn't even sit together anyhow, I'm _in_ the match."

"Oh, so you figured you could just invite me to watch you show off instead? That's brilliant, really."

Dorian put his fingers to his forehead, frustrated. "No, Amelia, please…" he couldn't blame her though, how could it not seem that way?

"You know, you think you can have any girl you please and just move on to the next like going through used napkins or something. What type of girl do you take me for, Dorian? I'm curious."

Dorian scoffed, "Goodness, Amelia, you act like we're in a relationship or something! Caroline's been trying to sleep with me for who knows how long. You can't really expect me to take a vow of chastity every time I show remote interest in someone in particular. Especially someone who's been so incredibly unresponsive to it," he gave her an accusing look.

"Yes, well, it would certainly make them take your 'remote interest' a bit more seriously, now wouldn't it?"

"Well, how am I supposed to know if you return any interest in me? I'm not a mind reader, Amelia."

"Oh, well excuse me for not drinking myself into a stupor and throwing myself at you! I know it must be disappointing to hear that I actually have respect for myself. Is it really so hard to believe that sometimes you have to actually prove you're a decent person before someone's willing to date you?"

He furrowed his brow, she was right. "It does seem rather tacky of me, doesn't it?"

"That's one way of putting it," she said, "Whatever, I mean it's really none of my business anyway, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," she frowned.

"You have every right to be angry, I'm sorry." It was all he could manage to say.

"Yeah, so am I," she said darkly, "Clearly I'm not the kind of girl you're looking for. Please go."

"It isn't like that."

"Dorian, please," she looked at him wearily, "Just go."

He hesitated, struggling with words on the tip of his tongue. Saying nothing more, he left.

* * *

**A/N: Alright, so a pretty short chapter, but I needed a way to split things up and it ultimately flowed better this way. As always, thanks for reading. More soon to come! :)**


	11. A Deal

**Chapter Eleven:**

**A Deal**

Amelia could have almost burned a hole through the pages of her book she was so staring intensely at the words, as if to try and drown out the storm of thoughts that were eating away at her.

She was almost embarrassed for erupting like she did, although at the same time she knew it was well deserved. Why did she care so much anyway? Was she jealous? Or gods forbid, was she actually starting to _like_ him? She hated to even consider it. She hated it just as much as those speckled hazel-blue eyes, and that tousled brown hair, and the way he'd grin at her like he knew something she didn't. She hated the thought of him getting to her. She hated the thought of him winning.

Amelia was starting to wonder if some of her anger was directed at herself for being so weak. It was silly to let herself care so much about what the sodding fool did in his spare time. Why was it any of her business anyway? It's not like they were in a relationship or anything, he was at least right about _that._

Belinda tapped her catalogue sheets on her desk, shuffling them into a neat pile. "It's a shame you didn't come it to the shooting match yesterday, despite how much you dislike that Dorian, the boy can really shoot! I'll have to take you with me next time, his aim is simply impossible."

Amelia was in too deep of thought to hear her, or notice the intense frown forming on her face for that matter, but Belinda certainly did.

"Amelia," she said softly, "What's wrong, dear?"

Amelia snapped to attention at the sound of her name. She knew exactly what was wrong. Tears stung her eyes as it hit her like a tidal wave. She told her everything. Everything about Desmond, everything about Dorian, everything.

"I just, I mean… it's silly, right? Feeling this way about some thoughtless instance."

Belinda stroked her hair, "No, it isn't silly at all. He had no right lead you on and then go doing something like that."

She knew it was true. "He is really a jackass, isn't he?"

Belinda frowned, contemplating, "I've known Dorian since he was a little boy. He does have his good qualities, but he had no right to treat you like he did. He shouldn't have done it, but there's a chance it might not have been intentional. Often times you'll discover some men don't think as much as we'd like them to."

Amelia gave a soft chuckle, "Obviously not."

Belinda sighed wistfully, "It's a shame. It seemed like you two were really starting to enjoy each other's' company. I saw you dancing together at the festival."

"Yes, well, clearly he didn't enjoy it all _that_ much."

"Now, dear, that's an awfully hasty conclusion to jump to. He's been pursuing you for quite some time, perhaps he just thought you weren't interested."

_I wasn't interested_, she thought to say, but somehow it seemed like a lie, and that was what she hated most of all. "Well excuse me for not throwing myself into his arms like every other girl in town."

"Sweetheart, I know it's not an easy thing to forgive. He really ought not to treat you like this, and if he doesn't realize that, then he isn't worth your time," she knelt down to her level, giving her an affectionate touch on the shoulder.

Amelia nodded, grateful for the gesture.

"A smart, beautiful girl like you deserves much better treatment. If he doesn't see it, he's blind."

She gave a weak smile, "Thanks, Belinda. I really appreciate it."

Belinda smiled back at her and stood up. "I'm going to run to a few errands now. You sure you're alright watching the shop for a bit?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"I hate to leave you like this, but I have to go before the bakery closes. I shouldn't be more than half an hour, we can talk some more when I get back, alright?"

Amelia nodded, "Alright."

* * *

Harriet sat on the edge of her seat. "So let me get this straight, you actually agreed to _sleep_ with Caroline?"

"Yes, well I was _going_ to until she got sick everywhere. It was a complete disaster, I regret it entirely."

Harriet threw her head back and laughed hysterically. "That's just… oh my, that's just _rich_."

Dorian on the other hand did not seem very amused.

"Well, it's certainly a humbling experience. Maybe she'll finally lay off you."

Dorian shrugged and let his hand dangle idly over the side of the fishing boat, looking solemn and puzzled.

"Jeez, someone else die in your family or something?"

Dorian gave her a look. "No, surprisingly,"

"Then what's wrong? Please don't tell me you wanted to sleep with her _that_ badly."

He furrowed his brow as though he had difficulty deciding what next to say, "Amelia saw me with Caroline. She won't talk to me now."

"You're kidding! That's pretty rough. I hate to sound like a complete arse, but you sort of deserved it."

Her comment wasn't appreciated, but it was met with more acceptance than protest.

"So… that's the reason you're brooding?"

"I'm not _brooding_."

Harriet raised an eyebrow. _Sure_. "Contemplating deeply, then?"

"Fine."

Harriet studied him. She couldn't remember the last time he'd actually taken to heart someone's ill opinion of him. It was unsettling and must be stopped at once. "So, what are you going to do about it? Win her over with your charm?"

"I don't think charm will work this time."

"Pity, it's really all you've got."

He did not look amused. "Any other suggestions then? Since you're so clever."

"Why don't you just go apologize like any other civilized human being? Or is his majesty above that?"

He glared at her this time. "Funny. I did tell her I was sorry, but she didn't seem to want to listen."

"It doesn't hurt to try again, maybe she's cooled down by now? Isn't that what you've been doing all along? Making her upset and waiting until she cools down to talk to her again? I mean, your tactics are so shamefully predictable she's probably expecting a formal apology."

A suppressed smirk cracked its way onto Dorian's features.

"Prove to her you're at least willing to imitate a decent gentleman."

* * *

The bookshop was quiet that late afternoon. It had probably been the first time Amelia had ever experienced being there alone. There was something unsettling about the silence, it was as though Belinda had become part of the store's ambiance, part of its essence. Without her it seemed incomplete.

Amelia did not endure the silence long before it was interrupted by the ringing of the entrance bell. She glanced up from her book to meet the disrupter, expecting to find Belinda returning from her errands. She was sorely mistaken.

She made an effort to speak, but Dorian beat her to it.

"I ran into Mrs. Bagsby outside the bakery, she said you'd be here."

Brilliant, just the last person she wanted to see. Amelia glared at him intensely as he collected his words, glancing about the bookstore as if distracted by it. The place took a while to get used to.

"I've… come to apologize."

Amelia opened her mouth to say something, but he raised a hand.

"No, before you say anything, please just let me finish. You were right, about what you said yesterday."

Amelia looked at him skeptically.

Dorian scratched his head as he pondered a moment, it was obvious this wasn't something he was used to doing.

"You have every right to be angry. I'm sorry for treating you the way I have."

Amelia said nothing, keeping her eyes glued to him. There was something different about him now, it took her a moment to figure out just what it was. In this rare moment he was no longer the careless, witty, humorous man she'd grown accustomed to seeing. This time he was being serious.

"I mean, if it's any consolation, we didn't get very far before Caroline got ill. The whole thing was really quite a mess." Dorian smiled lamely.

Amelia responded with a humorless stare. So much for serious.

"Ok, forget I said that. It really doesn't make up for my recklessness. I understand that you're angry, like I said, you have every right to be."

Amelia raised an eyebrow in agreement, but still said nothing.

"At any rate, I want to make it up to you. If you won't accept that, I at least want to give you an apology."

Amelia watched him shrewdly, thinking for a moment. "So, what do you propose?"

"Well, I was actually thinking you could tell me. I hardly know what you might deem appropriate, I mean, I hardly even know _you_."

Amelia nodded, "Well, you could start by not being a complete dolt."

Dorian gave a laugh, "I'll certainly try, but I can't guarantee you anything. Harriet's been trying for years."

Even Amelia had to smile. It was unexpected, this whole thing, but he sounded sincere. She would at least give him credit for trying.

"I hope you know how big of an arse you are."

"I would be a fool not to notice. Amelia, I truly did not intend to hurt you like this. It's just that after all the times you've ignored me, I didn't think you'd care."

Part of her didn't want to forgive him, but another part of her thought it childish not to. Trust and forgiveness were too different things after all. She remembered what Belinda had said. He was not worth her time if he didn't realize how wrongly he'd treated her. Clearly he did. There was a part of her that hated that. Things would be so much less complicated if he didn't.

"Dorian, just try to be civil. I mean, from what you've shown me, who's to say I'm not just some other girl you want to just shag and be done with? You've certainly given me no reason to believe otherwise."

"So you're saying you want a relationship?"

"Look, Dorian, I don't know what I want from you, I don't even know if I _want_ anything at all. I know you want something from me though, I guess I'd just really like to know what that is."

"I've already told you."

"Oh? Please remind me."

"I want you to give me another chance, just let me take you out on a date. You really think that would kill you? We hardly even know each other, Amelia."

Her eyes narrowed in on him, "So, let me get this straight, you come in here to apologize to me and expect to walk out with a date? You really are a cocky bastard."

Dorian scratched his head, smiling sheepishly, "I certainly don't deny it."

Amelia sighed and shook her head, typical. "And after all this, do you honestly expect me to trust you?"

"I most certainly don't."

"Then you should understand why I can't allow myself to date you," she said, resolute. "I'm not a fool, Dorian. I accept your apology as long as you respect my wishes."

Dorian gave a nod, "I will do so. Does this mean we're on speaking terms?"

Amelia thought for a second, "Yes, as long as you remain civil."

Dorian gave a slight smile, "I will do my best."


	12. Following Up

**Chapter 12:**

**Following Up**

In the weeks that passed, Dorian and Amelia spoke relatively little despite the fact that he had kept his promise and remained quite civil. However, while their little deal specified that he be civil and not stalk her relentlessly, it did not state that he couldn't observe her in passing.

Sometimes on his way to the beach he would find her slouched against the large oak tree, her face buried in one of those big, clunky books as usual. When before he would have sat beside her and pestered her until she stormed off, now he simply gave a nod and walked on by. She always noticed him, even the times that she pretended not to. The girl was painfully obvious. There were times when he would happen to catch her in line at the bakery, or walking past his house when he was outside that he would say hello to her and smile ever so nicely, and she would give this sort of suppressed smirk like she was trying very hard not to seem too inviting. Dorian took no offense, it was fairly amusing to watch. In fact, Amelia herself had proven amusing to watch. It had become a sort of secret (though he could never be sure quite _how_ secret) pastime of his. Sometimes he'd catch her wandering through the fields like some child lost in a fantasy game, or walking listlessly along the beach as he was hauling in fish, but wherever he happened to see her in town, she was always alone. After all his observations, Dorian had reached a conclusion; Amelia was a terribly odd girl.

Now, after almost three weeks of wordlessness, here she was, struggling with a large, wooden shelf that she would undoubtedly need help carrying home, and here Dorian was, far too much of a gentleman and opportunist to pass it up.

She spotted him and set the shelf down for a moment as he approached her. It was as though she already knew what he intended.

"Would you like some help?"

Amelia looked down at the shelf, sighing. "I really would, actually."

_Well, that was easy enough._ Dorian looked her over out of habit. Another thing he had concluded was that she could certainly take a lesson or two from Harriet about fashion sense. Why she always insisted on wearing those dirty brown ankle boots with everything was beyond him. Typically the ensemble didn't look all that bad, but today's outfit was particularly distressing; a lacy black sundress with grey, knitted tights and those boots, of course. _Come on, Amelia, that doesn't even match, for goodness sake._

"You're headed home, I assume?"

"Yes, with the both of us it should really only take about fifteen minutes to get there."

"Fair enough, it shouldn't be too difficult then. Would you like to lead?"

"Sure, we can probably hold it over both of our shoulders so neither of us have to walk backwards."

"Excellent, I'll take the back then."

Amelia walked around to the other side and the two of them bent down and hoisted it up together.

"Got it?"

"Got it. Ready when you are, my dear."

The two of them started down the path. Dorian took a firm grip on the shelf and admired the woodwork. It was a medium brown color with a smooth finish and beveled edges. "Mr. Hill did a nice job on this one."

"I agree, it's a very nice piece."

There was hardly a word spoken after that. The trip back to Amelia's house took just about as much time as expected. Once inside, Dorian realized he hadn't visited the apothecary since the day Amelia had gotten angry at him. Her father was at the counter, Dorian waved to him with his free arm.

"Ah, Dorian! Helping us carry things in again are we?" Mr. Brighton chuckled.

"That appears to be the pattern!" he said, shifting the weight of the shelf to both of his arms as they carried it up the stairs.

When they reached the top, Amelia stopped and set her end on the floor. "Alright, this is going in my room, let me just open the door real quick."

Dorian followed her, managing to carry by himself for the short distance to the door.

"Alright, here we are."

The light in her room was bright coming through the window. Dorian squinted as patterns of reflected light scattered about the room from small mirrors that hung from the ceiling. Colorful paper cranes hung above her bed; a warm, quilted pattern of oranges, pinks, and yellows. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope. On the walls she had pinned maps of Albion, Aurora, and Samarkand, and of course, he couldn't possibly ignore the amount of books she kept.

Dorian could do nothing but smile. It was… surprising, and at the same time, not surprising at all. Of course this is what Amelia's room would look like.

"We can just set this on the ground in here for now."

Dorian did as instructed, still mesmerized by her room. Even in this relatively small space she had managed to fit four standing bookshelves. He took a wild guess and presumed he had just carried over the fifth, which would hang on the wall. There were books on her dresser, and books in piles on the floor, and books sitting on her bed.

"My goodness, Amelia, have you read all of these?"

Amelia laughed, "No, only about two thirds."

Dorian looked around and shook his head, it was still unbelievable. "You could practically open up a small bookstore with all you've got." He couldn't decide whether he felt it was admirable or concerning. Perhaps a little of both.

"Well, it is almost twenty-three years' worth of collecting."

"Almost twenty-three? When is your birthday?"

"October twenty-seventh."

He nodded, "So in about a month then."

"Yes, that's right. Goodness, time is flying quickly."

"It certainly is," he said. Had it really been three months since they met?

He glanced around her room again and spotted the corner where she kept her shoes. _I knew she had a pair of flats in here somewhere._ He hoped she wouldn't be offended, but he just couldn't help himself. "Amelia, I imagine those boots must be very comfortable, but I believe a nice pair of flats would complement your dress much more nicely."

But she wasn't offended at all, in fact she _laughed_.

"Dorian, I think you need some male friends."

Dorian gave a loud chuckle, how painfully true it was. "You know, I really do. It's a shame that most of them hate me on some level."

"Well, you make it pretty easy for them."

"I don't deny it. Honestly though, I really don't have an agenda of making enemies, it just sort of… happens."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well, I suppose you can't help who you are."

Dorian smirked, "Not at all."

Amelia chuckled, "Well, anyway, thank you for the help. I certainly couldn't have carried that on my own," she said, motioning to the shelf on the floor.

"Of course, my dear. Will you need any help putting it up?"

"No, I think I'll be alright."

"Alright, if you insist." Dorian smiled and turned to leave, "Goodbye, Amelia."

Amelia returned the smile, "Goodbye, Dorian."

* * *

Evening arrived quickly for Amelia. They had just barely eaten dinner when her father had to leave to run some last minute errands before the shops closed. Most of her chores were done, and the blackberry pie she'd been working on looked about done as well. She grabbed some oven mitts took it out to cool. Lopsided as usual. Amelia sighed and leaned against the counter. Everything seemed to be in order except the kitchen, which was in definite need of some cleaning.

Amelia turned around and lifted up a heavy sack of flour in her arms. She struggled toward the pantry, walking as quickly as she could before her arms gave out. _Why do we buy it in such bulk anyway?_

Suddenly she felt something soft against her foot, blocking her path. "RIPLEY!" she cried, but she had already lost her balance. She hit the floor hard and the room when white for a second as flour went everywhere. She coughed and cleared the air with her hand. There were white, small paw prints leading into the other room where her cat had darted away.

Amelia swept her hair back in a sloppy knot to keep it out of her face as she bent down to pick up what was left in the flour sack off of the floor. She was going to need a dustpan.

Amelia tried not to track the flour into the apothecary portion of her home as she searched for the dustpan. Just as she bent over to look under the counter, she heard the door open. She almost hit her head on it as she looked up to see who it was.

It was a rather handsome young man with blonde, wavy hair.

_Of course a good looking gentleman would choose to come in right about now._ Amelia made a lame attempt to dust the flour off her dress and smiled at him.

"Hi, can I help you with anything?"

The young man turned and smiled at her, "Yes, actually. I was just looking for something that would help with sunburn."

"Ah," she said, coming around the counter. She walked over to a green jar and took it off the shelf. "This has aloe in it, it's probably your best bet."

"Alright then, I'll take it. Thank you, that was certainly easy enough."

She handed him the jar and smiled, "Not a problem."

He followed her over to the cash register and paid for the jar. She gave him his change and studied him. He certainly didn't look sunburned, in fact he had a nice even tan. There was definitely something familiar about him. They must have been introduced at some point, and she cursed herself for having no recollection of it.

"I'm sorry, I know I've seen you around, but I can't seem to remember your name."

He chuckled, "It's fine, I'm sure mine's not the only name you've had to remember," he took a few steps closer and extended his hand. "It's Malcolm," he said.

Amelia returned the handshake. His eyes were warm and kind. He had a firm handshake and calluses on his palms, Amelia guessed from some sort of manual labor.

"You're Amelia, right?"

"Yes, that's right," she said, "At least your memory works."

They stood there chuckling for a moment. She probably looked like a fool with flour all over her black dress, but it was beyond rendering.

Finally Malcolm cleared this throat, "I see you on your way to the bookstore sometimes from the tavern window. You like reading, I take it?"

Amelia smiled, "I do, how deductive of you," she teased innocently, "I take it you like drinking?"

Malcolm laughed, running a hand through his hair, "I do, how deductive of you!"

The two of them chuckled again.

"No, but really, I try to be responsible about it. I only get drunk on occasion. Typically I just hang out at the tavern for the social aspect of it. The owner's a real nice guy too."

Amelia nodded, "You know, that's a lot of the reason I go to the bookstore so often, to see Belinda that is. She's become a friend to me."

"You don't say? She's a very nice woman, I've known her all my life. Always thought she was a bit eccentric."

"I like that about her."

Malcolm smiled with his eyes, giving a little nod. "Yeah, she's quite something. All those foreign doodads in her store are a bit odd, not that I go in there often. I'm really not much of a reader, never have been."

"Well, I can't say I'm much of a drinker."

Malcolm laughed, "Well, aren't we the opposites?"

"It would appear so."

Malcolm thought for a moment, "So, is that where you spend most of your time? In the bookstore that is?"

Amelia nodded, "Yes, when I'm not here helping my father."

He scratched his head as if pondering something, "You haven't been treated badly by anyone here, have you?"

Amelia almost laughed, it was a difficult question to answer. Dorian hadn't deliberately treated her badly, although his constant flirting for the first month of their acquaintance bordered on harassment. "I suppose that depends on your definition," she answered in a humorous tone.

Malcolm chuckled, "I uh, guess you might need to fill me in on a few things then."

"I'm sure you must have heard something about Dorian and I, although going by the rumors I caught wind of, I'm sort of eager to hear what exactly that is."

Malcolm couldn't help but smile at this, "So you've felt the wrath of Oakvale's infamous gossip, have you? I did hear quite a few things actually. First off, you're not_ really_ a lesbian, are you?"

Amelia tossed her head back in laughter, "No, I'm not."

"Good. That would be… a shame." His eyes caught hers as he said this. "Years of experience have taught me not to believe most of what they say anyhow."

Amelia gave a smile, "Well, that's a relief. Really though, I can't say any of them have treated me _badly_. If anything, they haven't really treated me like anything other than an amusing spectacle, which… isn't exactly good. Certainly my odd relationship with Dorian hasn't helped matters."

Malcolm frowned, "It's unfortunate it turned out that way. You know, I think a lot of them just need a chance to sort of warm up to you. I mean so far you've been painted as this strange city girl who thinks she's too good for the country pretty boy. I think if they just got to actually know you I'm sure their view of you would change."

Amelia took in his words, "You think so?"

"Sure I do. I mean, even someone like me who knows better than to believe the things they say wasn't completely sure about who I'd be speaking to when I came in here. I know better now, of course." His eyes crinkled in the corners as he gave her a soft, genuine smile.

Amelia felt herself almost blush, "Well, the fact that I'm really not the most social person hasn't helped matters either."

Malcolm shrugged, "Probably not, but it isn't too late to start. I'll tell you what, if you're not busy tomorrow evening, a bunch of us are getting together at the tavern. It would be great if you could come along."

"I... sure, I'd love to come. Any idea what time?"

"Probably around seven, I can come pick you up if you'd like."

"Alright, seven it is then."

"Excellent," he said, "Who knows, perhaps you'll even enjoy a drink or two."

Amelia raised a playful eyebrow, "And perhaps Belinda has a few books you may actually enjoy."

"Well, we're just going to have to wait and find out, won't we?"

* * *

**A/N: Sheesh, as if it hasn't taken me long enough to post this chapter. I really do apologize about that. I had the honest intention of posting more than a week ago but I ended up having less time and more writer's block than expected. Anyway, thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)**

**Also, I want to personally thank Gwynedde for all of her reviews, and BratDeanna/IHeartLawliet for her constant support. You two are especially wonderful :)**


	13. A Show

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**A Show**

Amelia looked in the mirror and turned side to side, examining herself once, twice over. After ten minutes of digging through her closet, she decided on a light blue dress, the only one she owned, the one she liked to save for special occasions. It wasn't fancy enough to wear to a formal gathering, but a bit too nice to wear every day unless she wanted to constantly worry about it getting dirty.

Her eyes lingered a moment on the pair of flats sitting in the corner and she considered, only for a second, that perhaps Dorian may have been on to something when he suggested wearing them. The second passed quickly, though, and soon Amelia got to lacing up her trusty brown boots for another outing. _I'll wear what I want to, thank you very much._

Truthfully, she was a bit nervous about the whole evening. Going by what Malcolm said, who knows what the others may think of her upon her arrival? Perhaps they have already sealed their judgment on her, and nothing she did or wore could change that. She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the onslaught of questions.

There was still fifteen minutes before he would come. She paced around her room, trying to rid herself of her nervousness, as if she could tire it out of herself. She looked in the mirror again and combed a few wispy strands of hair back with her fingers that never seemed to grow out, no matter how old she got. After much deliberation and a bit more pacing, she finally left her room.

It was then that she heard the knock, which sent a whole new jolt of nerves through her stomach. It was funny, since her home was technically a store, people usually just let themselves in. It only seemed that she heard people knock after they'd closed or if someone was coming to pick her up. The latter happened all too infrequently.

"Come in!"

It was Malcolm, just as expected. From the top of the steps she could see him in the doorway, his blonde hair forming a sort of halo in the sunset behind him. He saw her then, or more than likely heard her because she was making such a ruckus coming down the steps so quickly.

"Ah, hello, Amelia! I hope I'm not too early. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I am, and no, you're not too early."

He met her at the bottom of the steps, smiling with his eyes. "Good. Shall we?" he motioned to the door.

"Sure, just let me lock up. My father is sort of preoccupied in the basement right now, time seems to elude him when he's making new concoctions, he forgets sometimes."

"Oh, certainly."

She quickly ducked behind the counter and grabbed the keys.

"That's a pretty dress, Bowerstone must have some talented tailors."

Amelia gave a shy chuckle, "Thanks, I suppose anything is a step up from being covered in flour like the last time you saw me."

"Nonsense, I thought the flour was very becoming!"

The two of them laughed and he ushered her out the door.

It was hardly ten minutes before they arrived at the tavern. Malcolm paused at the doors. "Ready?"

Amelia nodded.

Malcolm smirked and turned the handle. It was an old place, one that looked like it had seen its days, but still had a sort of homey feel. It had been lived in and laughed in. Good times and lousy times were spent here.

Her eyes immediately found the group gathered the corner, it was hard to miss. She felt her stomach drop again as she registered the size of it. From the distance, she could already make out most of its members.

Sitting farthest to the left on the fireplace ledge was Abigail, who had always been very pleasant to her, and to the right of her was Allison, the strawberry blonde. Amelia recognized her as Caroline's best friend. Surprisingly, it did not seem Caroline was present this evening, which brought more relief than she liked to admit.

Sitting on around them in various chairs were Jillian, Susan, and Jane. There was also a young girl could not quite remember the name of sitting on the ottoman by the boys. She looked quite a bit like Caroline, Amelia could only guess she was her sister.

Fred, Allison's brother, waved at Malcolm from a chair in the corner, and around him were a few other boys who she could not recognize from behind.

She could feel their eyes on her as she approached; speculative, curious, judging. She smiled and gave them the warmest greeting she could muster. Their response was friendly enough, but she could sense the caution. She sat down next to Malcolm on the couch. The silence was heavy. Their eyes remained glued to her as though they were anticipating something, but she could not imagine what. That she burst into flames upon human contact? That she dump water on Malcolm too? She could only imagine what they'd been told, but one thing was certain: she would not be meeting those sort of expectations this evening.

Through the silence, her ears caught the sounds of a few whispers, her eyes caught the darting glances made to one another. Suddenly, the impending silence was shattered by a voice next to her.

"So, tell us about your life in Bowerstone! We're dying to know, many of us have never even been to a city before."

She smiled at Malcolm, sending a silent thanks his way.

Where to start? There were paved, stone roads instead of dirt ones and bumpy carriage rides. The roads were admittedly much smother here. She figured it was somewhere to start.

"So then why bother paving them?" asked Allison.

"Well… I suppose they are a bit cleaner, they don't get muddy when it rains."

Her comment was met with an uproar of agreement, comments about how irritating mud on the bottom of one's dress can be, how near impossible it is to drive a carriage through thick mud, while a few of them, particularly Allison, still appeared speculative.

Relaxing a bit from the positive feedback, she began to describe other customs native to Bowerstone and city life. Less space, less fresh air, more people, more shops. They group seemed to come to a general consensus that perhaps city life was not all it was talked up to be, and Amelia had to agree.

Now that the ice was broken, it was on to the real questions. Susan, the freckled blonde girl was among the bravest and most eager to ask.

"Alright, so tell us, because it goes without saying that we're all curious, what's going on between you and Dorian?"

There was a general sigh of relief, as if everyone was wondering the same thing, but too afraid to ask. Of course this is what they were all dying to know about. Whether Amelia liked it or not, it had come to define her here in Oakvale. She glanced around at the eager eyes. People were literally on the edge of their seats.

"Honestly… nothing right now. He pestered me, and I got sick of him, so I told him off. We are on speaking terms though."

"So why don't you find Dorian attractive? I mean, what puts you off about him?" asked Jillian, the braided-haired brunette.

"Oh, well, it's not that I don't find him attractive, it's just that he can be awfully arrogant. You know, thinking he can have any girl he wants."

Her comment was met with much agreement from the male crowd, the female crowd gave a few understanding nods.

"So… that's it?"

It couldn't have been more anti-climactic, but what did they expect? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Well, his pestering got old awfully quick. I mean, is that just his method of getting women? I've been wondering for a while, has he done this to any of you?"

The girls turned to one another, asking quietly, shaking heads. They all seemed to answer in the negative.

"I can't say I would turn him down," said Jillian. The room erupted in agreement and laughter.

Abigail spoke up next, "You know, if a guy that I didn't like kept pestering me, I think I'd get fed up too."

"I was there the day you dumped that whole bucket of water on him, it was hysterical!" added Jane.

"Oh, yes, he was being particularly irritating that day."

"Well, I say good for you. It's about time somebody taught him a lesson," chimed Fred from the corner.

"You know, despite how he's acted in the past, he's actually been very civil lately. Maybe he's learned his lesson for once."

"Or maybe he's just given up," blurted Allison.

"Well, maybe he has," said Amelia, but she had a feeling that wasn't the case. Or was it? It was funny, she never even considered that before. She couldn't tell which was more concerning; the fact that it might be true, or the fact that it even concerned her to begin with.

The group continued with their questions. Yes, she loved the countryside. No, she wasn't a lesbian. No, she did not know exactly how many books she'd read or owned. After a while, the questions dwindled and the group began to discuss their usual things. There was gossiping, and joking around, and a bit of drinking. The typical things young adults do. Amelia just listened for the most part. Occasionally Malcolm or another member would ask her opinion of something. The group was certainly curious about her, and nobody seemed outright hostile except possibly Allison, who seemed to need a bit more convincing than the rest. Perhaps Malcolm was right, maybe they just needed to get to know her. Every so often his kind eyes would drift her way, checking to see if she was comfortable, or to listen attentively to something she had to say, or to ask her opinion on a matter. He had a warm laugh that in itself made her smile, and a carefree manner that could make anyone feel at ease.

They had been there no more than an hour when Amelia saw Abigail perk up and wave at someone behind them. Amelia didn't even have time to register apprehension as to who had shown up before she was starting him straight in the face.

Dorian looked positively caught off guard. His brows furrowed in confusion, and he cocked his head curiously as if to inquire how she ended up there. As if it were some big mystery how she could possibly acquire friends.

Amelia gave him a look, but quickly dismissed it and turned away. _Whatever, I don't even care anymore._ But she did. She cared deeply that Dorian was here. Whatever façade of normalcy that lasted up to this point was over the moment he walked in the door. They had already begun to whisper. She took a deep breath, trying to not let her frustration show. There was a part of her that couldn't help but hate him right now. The group was expecting a show, of course. Should she prepare a bucket of water? Arm herself with cutting comments to throw his way? Despite her feelings, she could not have mistaken the look of surprise on his face. How could he possibly have known?

She gave a quick, inconspicuous glance in his direction. Their eyes met, and she turned away as if it burned.

Amelia relaxed her shoulders and gave a listless stare at the wall. She would not let them win. There would be no show.

Allison and Abigail got up from their seats on the fireplace ledge and hurried over to meet Harriet and Dorian at the bar. It was much too crowded to have a private conversation in the corner with the rest of them anyway.

Amelia let her gaze follow Harriet for a moment. Despite the fact that she was the girl who Amelia was most familiar with, she realized she really didn't know all that much about her, what her private life was like, or what she did when she wasn't with Dorian. It certainly took a special person to endure Dorian's antics for years at a time, she would give her that.

Today, Harriet exhibited a tasteful, lavender sundress, and flat white shoes to match. She wore a single pearl on her neck and a lovely pearl barrette that swept her golden hair back. It was no secret that Harriet's family had a little more money than everyone else in town, but this girl could have probably worn Amelia's yesterday outfit, clashing colors and all, and still made it look somewhat stylish.

It was hard to imagine a single sharp angle on her features. Everything about her appearance had a sort of soft nature to it, but behind those brown eyes suggested a tough wit that she had seen in action. The eyes of a person who'd spent years dealing with Dorian and wasn't putting up with any of his crap.

Eventually the group settled back to its original chatter, but there was no mistaking the edge of anticipation that seemed to wash over them the moment Dorian arrived. Malcolm's offer for a drink was in every way appreciated.

Dorian rested his head on his arm and peered over at the group. Amelia was sitting on the side of the couch closest to him, easily visible. Her expression was akin to that of a stone, barely shifting all but her eyes. He guessed his presence had something to do with it. Either that or she really was terrible in social situations. Despite her obvious discomfort, she was sporting a rather tasteful choice in outfit today. The white eyelet lace peeking out from under the hem was a nice touch. It fit her well, from what he could make out. There was a certain familiarity about it too, one that he couldn't quite place. It didn't even look half bad with those old, brown ankle boots she always insisted upon wearing. Of course, that still wasn't saying a whole lot, considering it was the sort of dress that would make any pair of shoes look good. No, wait a minute. He had seen her wear that dress before. It was the day she moved to town. For goodness' sake, why had it taken her so long to pull it back out of her closet?

He watched Malcolm get up from the couch and approach the counter. Thinking nothing of it, he turned his attention back to Amelia.

"Two pints, please," Malcolm requested, setting a few coins on the counter. Mr. Bateman took the coins and obliged.

It wasn't until Malcolm returned one of those pints to Amelia that Dorian got the picture.

_Malcolm?_ That boy was so painfully simple, whatever possessed her to impress _him_? The thought put an awfully bitter taste in his mouth.

"He isn't bothering you, is he?" he could hear Malcolm ask from a distance.

Amelia shook her head and chuckled, "No, he isn't."

"Good, I'd hate to have to beat him up," he teased.

Dorian scowled. _I can hear you, idiot. Like you would win, anyway._

Malcolm was, admittedly, stronger than he was. It was in all likelihood that he _would_ win a fist fight between the two. Dorian did have to give her a little credit, Malcolm was fairly attractive. He had that sort of simple farm boy look about him. He supposed it had its appeals, if that's the sort of thing you were into. _Was_ that the sort of thing she was into?

It would certainly seem that way. He'd certainly never seen her look at _him_ like that before. Of course, the incessant following thing might have put a damper on things. Dorian remained in deep in thought until suddenly he felt a smack upside his head. Harriet.

"Gah! What is it?"

"Finally! I could have sworn you went deaf for a moment. Remember the time Everett got stuck in that tree for almost twelve hours? Allison won't believe us."

Dorian thought for a moment, struggling to bring himself into the present conversation. "No, I think it was actually something like eight hours." He glanced over at Amelia again, trying to read her lips.

"Are you sure?" asked Abigail, "I was certain it was longer than that. Anyway, it was a really long time, and he would have probably broken his legs getting down if Old Lazarus hadn't heard him in the forest that evening."

Allison gave a shrewd look, "What was that old drunk doing in the forest? I thought he just stuck around the beach."

"Beats me, but it was good he showed up, wasn't it?"

Dorian tuned out the conversation again, focusing in on the situation in the corner. He still couldn't believe it. Then again, it would be silly to think that there would be no man in Oakvale with his eye on her. It was only a matter of time, wasn't it? He felt another tap upside the head.

"Dorian, I know she's good looking but can you at least keep it together in public? You look like you need a laxative or something."

The other two snickered, barely containing themselves.

"Fine. What else do you have to tell me?" he snapped.

"Well I was _saying_, he climbed the tree at about eleven in the afternoon, right?"

"I don't know what bloody time he climbed the tree! If it matters so much, why don't you just go ask Everett yourself?"

Harriet raised an eyebrow, "Well, excuse me, Mr. Shortwire, maybe I will! Goodness you're snippety today."

Dorian rolled his eyes and turned back to Malcolm and Amelia. The way she laughed at his stupid jokes like some foolish schoolgirl was just sickening. He didn't even know Amelia was capable of that.

He peered into his pint and wondered a moment if he was being as obvious as Harriet said he was. He certainly wouldn't be the only one being obvious. Even with Malcolm's positively hilarious commentary, Amelia was tense as ever. Was it possible she could feel his stares? It seemed Malcolm could, his glare was deadly.

_Oh, how terrifying! _Dorian gave him a curt little smile. It took strength not to stick out his tongue and give him some twisted, childish expression.

Malcolm turned his attention back to the group and reached an inconspicuous arm around the back of the couch where Amelia was sitting. Marking his territory, clearly.

Dorian gave an acidic sneer, though it was doubtful he noticed it. _Like she's your property or something. She barely even knows you. _She was even less "his" than Caroline was.

The others in the group seemed to notice it though. He could soon hear the giggles and whispers, there were glances in his direction.

Dorian frowned and turned back to his drink, which did nothing to stop it. The next few minutes felt like an eternity sitting frozen in his seat, not daring to look up from the bottom of his glass. Finally, Fred seemed to come up with something to talk about, diverting their attention. It wasn't until he was certain they were somewhat distracted that he dared to look over again.

This time his eyes caught hers. She didn't look away though, not for a moment at least. It was a different expression she gave him this time, not one of surprise and annoyance. It was a sort of pleading that she did with her eyes, it was hurt that registered on her features.

Dorian blinked in confusion and she turned her head away, returning to stone. Was she mad at him?

Another round of giggles erupted from the corner and it hit him. They could never take her seriously while he was there. While he was there, it was all just a show, a goldmine for the sort of gossip that crippled her chances of friendship in the first place. It wasn't surprising that she was upset, but he knew how to fix it.

"I have to go," he said, and left the building.

* * *

**A/N: Teehee, I love jealous!Dorian/Reaver. Also, thanks for the feedback! I was gone a week on vacation, so I apologize if my responses (and posting) were a bit delayed. More soon to come! I don't plan on giving up on this fic, so sit tight :) **


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